


Brollies and Buttons

by RomancebyFaye



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bottom Greg, First Meeting, M/M, PWP, Phone Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Suit Kink, Suit Porn, Suit Sex, Top Mycroft, button porn, i don't think that's a thing, mystrade, now contains more plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 14:05:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4266054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RomancebyFaye/pseuds/RomancebyFaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a posh looker in an absolutely immaculate suit wanders into Greg's regular pub, all Greg wants to do is peel it off layer by layer and leave the lithe ginger a writhing wreck. Too bad the wearer of the suit has his own ideas...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've fallen into the world of Mystrade! Oh dear! But seriously, this just came to me (as things sometimes do) and I had to follow where it lead. Hope you enjoy!

Brollies and Buttons

* * *

  
Greg Lestrade loved suits.  
  
Well, not necessarily suits themselves - though who didn’t like to dress nice when they had the chance. No, more specifically Greg liked men in suits. Nice suits. Very nice suits. Suits with pristine pocket squares, crisp pressed shirts, artfully arranged ties. He loved the perfectly fitted waistcoats, jackets, and trousers sewn to accentuate a pert bum. He enjoyed pushing polished buttons through their buttonholes, and peeling away the layers of jacket, waistcoat, shirt and vest.    
  
He liked to take posh blokes with more manners than the Queen and unwrap them piece by bespoke piece, leaving a moaning, writhing, quivering, begging mess. It was one of his most favorite things to do, even though the opportunity to do so came rarely.  
  
Which is why, when a sinfully long-legged ginger - oh dear god, Greg loved gingers - had strolled into the hole in the wall pub that Greg frequented, wearing the hell out of a suit straight from Savile Row, he had been hard pressed not to stare with his mouth open and his tongue hanging out. Even though he did stop talking with his mates mid-sentence.  
  
Greg’s awareness shrank down to the sharp featured profile as his eyes followed the man’s stroll straight to the bar, a cane handled brolly swinging at his side with an ease that spoke of its constant presence. Greg’s eyes widened when the man pulled a handkerchief out and wiped down two empty bar stools that were side by side before folding the cloth and tucking it away.  
  
Bugger. The fellow was expecting company. And why not? He was glorious.  
  
The confidence radiated off of him in waves; and Greg was clearly not the only one affected as the barkeep ignored several others who had been waiting for his attention. He moved to immediately wait on the newcomer and then turn to secure two glasses of something that he pulled from some hidden spot underneath the counter. The two tumblers were set in front of the man as he hooked his brolly on the edge of the bar, sparing only the briefest nod to the barkeep who then scurried off.  
  
“Oi, earth to Greg,” a rather amused sounding Sally barked out.  
  
Greg snatched his head back to the small group he had met for drinks, a blush rising in his cheeks.  
  
“What?” he asked, ruining his nonchalance - which none of his mates were falling for if the smirks they all had was any indication - by taking a too large swig of his pint.  
  
The coughing fit that ensued was rather embarrassing.  
  
“That’s sexy,” Sally laughed as she handed him a napkin.  
  
He looked at his rumpled suit as he mopped the flecks of alcohol from his face, shirt, tie, and trousers. The sight reminded him of himself and he was rather glad Sally had snatched him from his daydreaming. Greg’s mediocre suit looked worse for wear, and after all the long days it had spent out in the elements of London, it was no surprise. Not that wearing a nice suit for work would make much sense; you never knew when you’d be chasing someone through a filthy alley, taking a spill into rubbish, getting bled on, vomited on, cried on, evaded, and - on one rather memorable occasion - chucked bodily into the Thames. His suits were serviceable, sturdy, and dependable, just like Greg. Perfectly fine, but certainly not for the likes of Posh Brolly.  
  
Besides, Posh Brolly was obviously waiting for someone else. Greg consoled himself that if it was another bloke, he would most likely at least have some more eye candy in a suit.  
  
“Yeah, well I try.” Greg’s voice was laced with sarcasm as he wadded up the napkin and tossed it on the table. When none of  his party was forthcoming with the usual jabs, Greg glanced up to see all of them besides Sally trying very hard to look anywhere but at Greg or whatever Sally was looking at.  
  
Somehow the wide smile of delight on her face sent a quiver of unease through Greg’s stomach.  
  
“I’d say whatever you’re doing is working,” she said, unsettling smile still firmly in place as she nodded towards what was holding her attention.  
  
The fine hairs on the back of Greg’s neck stood up as he turned slowly in his seat to find the source of her delight.  
  
Posh Brolly was sitting with daintily crossed legs, holding a tumbler full of caramel liquid up as if he expected someone to come take it from his hand. Greg just stared at him, certain that there was someone behind him the gesture was meant for.  
  
Even though his group was in a booth set against the wall.  
  
When the man arched an eyebrow and canted his head, somehow screaming his impatience with the miniscule movements, Greg was launched into movement of his own with a rather undignified shove from Sally. He tried to pretend that he didn’t make a noise that could definitely be described as a squeal before he threw her a death glare.  
  
“Get your arse over there you tit!” she hissed.  
  
And really, though only moments ago he had been fantasizing about this very situation, as Greg crossed the floor he realized that this wasn’t what he had been imaging at all.  
  
Greg’s eyes traveled over the man’s pristine suit; deep charcoal with classic grey pinstripes which drew the eye down his body, forcing Greg to notice just how tall the man wearing it was. The white shirt was crisp, the red tie with tiny grey dots across it adding a pop of color and, somehow, an air of menace. An antique looking gold watch fob and chain dangled from the waistcoat, causing Greg’s eyes catching on the buttons glinting there. They were black, and this close Greg could see they were carved with the image of a pair of flowers, the intricate background imitating the weave of fabric. Though they were pristine, they looked timeworn, well cared for but old.  
  
Every step brought him closer to the realization that the man before him was more than just another posh looker in a bespoke suit. The way those icy grey eyes never left him, the way the man barely even moved a muscle and yet managed to exude the absolute ease of a predator who knew its prey was caught, the way Greg found his feet taking him straight into the waiting maw without fail…all this let Greg know he was done for.  
  
And suddenly, he was there, his fingers reaching for the waiting glass, his companion watching as he numbly took the seat that had been primly wiped down.  
  
“Hello,” Greg said, thanking his stars that his voice was steady.  
  
“Hello,” the stranger answered, leaving Greg to wonder how that one word managed to hold such promise. The stranger's voice was even and measured, the accent completely proper, unlike Greg’s own. Up close, he could see that this fellow wasn’t just posh, he was Posh, with a capital ‘p’.  
  
Or maybe that should be Powerful.

Greg had the impression that this man was used to getting his own way. He doubted the word ‘no’ held meaning for him other than his own. Greg wondered if the man were to demand that he sink to his knees and suck him off right here in the pub if he would be able to refuse.  
  
“I’m Greg,” he said, because it seemed the safest thing to say.  
  
“It’s lovely to meet you, Gregory. Please, call me Mycroft.” And with that, Mycroft took a sip of his drink, a move Greg found himself mirroring so naturally that he wondered if it had been his idea at all.  
  
He wasn’t nearly surprised to find that the liquid that filled his mouth went down smoother than anything he had ever drank. His eyes drifted down to where Mycroft was tracing circles around the rim of his own tumbler with long, elegant fingers. He took another sip of his scotch and tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t make him look like an idiot.  
  
“Er,” well that was a great start. He cleared his throat and tried again. “This is delicious.”  
  
Mycroft’s lips pulled into what Greg could only describe as a micro smile and said in a low tone, “Yes, it certainly is. I have a taste for things that are well aged.”  
  
It was possible that Mycroft had only meant the alcohol, but since one of those long and terribly dexterous looking fingers had pushed an errant strand of grey locks from Greg’s forehead, Greg was fairly certain he could take the statement as a double meaning. He gulped loudly, the sound thumping in his ears as he froze with his tumbler halfway to his mouth.  
  
_Oh dear_ , Greg thought, _I’m so fucked_.  
  
And that was the main reason he wasn’t really surprised when after some more pathetic small talk - from him of course - he found himself following a total stranger out to the kerb, where a sleek black car waited. Or why, when he was guided inside a house that screamed money and sophistication, he wasn’t the least bit shocked to find himself pressed against the heavy oak door as soon as it closed behind him.  
  
“Gregory,” was whispered in his ear before lips and teeth began to map it out with delicate precision. The detective only managed a brief gasp before a sturdy - though slender - thigh was slipped between his own and slim fingers fastened on his arse to drag him upwards along that very thigh. The shift left his balance unsteady as his feet left the floor and he was forced to grasp at Mycroft’s shoulders.  
  
He couldn’t resist brushing his hands along the fine fabric beneath his palms, tracing his fingertips over the hard curve of a shoulder blade. He flattened his hands to feel the shift of muscle beneath the bespoke suit, imagining what the skin might feel like underneath all those layers.  
  
Lips trailed down over his stubbled jaw, teeth nipping and tongue teasing along his lower lip, urging him to grant Mycroft access. For a moment his mind was washed out in a tide of heated kisses, open mouthed and consuming. Greg held on for the onslaught, trying to give as good as he got. If the answering hardness meeting his grinding on Mycroft’s thigh was any indication, he was doing well enough. The fingers on his arse shifted with the kisses, trailing in greedy grabs of flesh up to his waist. Mycroft pulled away after long minutes, his arms locked behind Greg’s back holding the older man up.  
  
Greg tried to remember what he had been thinking about before those ravishing kisses, only remembering when he realized he had handfuls of Mycroft’s jacket clenched between his fingers. He leaned forward to lick delicately at those deceptively thin lips while he slipped his fingers under the collar of the jacket, moving to remove it as his first step unwrapping this most delicious treat.  
  
He didn’t get very far.  
  
“No,” Mycroft whispered with a wicked smile as he caught Greg’s wrists in his hands.  
  
Greg barely had time for an addled, "What?" before he was whipped around with surprising efficiency, his sad excuse for a tie pulled from his shirt collar with enough speed to send a slight zipping sound through the air. Before it had dawned on him to struggle, his hands had been tied far more quickly and securely than someone should be able to do without training.  
  
Greg froze, his hands firmly encased in cheap polyester behind, his cock tenting the marginally more quality fabric of his trousers in front, and his mind in a whirl somewhere he couldn’t quite place.  
  
He suddenly realized that he had put himself in an incredibly stupid and very possibly dangerous position. No one knew where he was - hell he didn’t even know where he was exactly. He was with a stranger, he was restrained, and he was in unfamiliar territory. As an officer of the law, he should really know better. At the moment, he couldn’t be arsed to care.  
  
He was crowded against the door, forced to turn his cheek to the wood to keep his face from being mashed into it as Mycroft pressed his lithe frame against his back. Teeth found the exposed curve of Greg’s neck, scraping across the delicate skin. Electric shivers ran down his spine, settling with a heavy pull in his groin. Fingers splayed over the jut of his hipbones, pulling him away from the door enough for his erection to be teased between the alternating pulses of manicured fingertips.  
  
Greg groaned at the caress, arching to press the curve of his arse back. He could feel the firmness of Mycroft’s erection pressing into the back of his hip, but when he tried to move his hands to touch it, Mycroft _tsked_ and pulled away. Greg growled in frustration and made to turn around, but a firm hand in the center of his back pushed him into the door once again. Greg pressed his forehead on the cool surface, breathing deeply.  
  
“Now now, I know you had your own plans for the evening, but I’m afraid you’ll find I like to have things my own way.” Anyone hearing the proper tone would never expect that the man speaking currently had a raging hard on in his trousers.  
  
“Really?” Greg huffed out, his voice rough with arousal. “I couldn’t tell.”  
  
The hand pressing between his shoulder blades trailed upwards as Mycroft chuckled.  
  
“Hmm. Then you should be aware…”, and here, the fingers sank into Greg’s hair roughly. They tugged his head back with enough force that he stumbled backwards, falling into the taller man behind him. Mycroft’s free arm crushed him with unexpected fierceness before his sentence was continued, the words spoken in a silken voice that turned Greg’s knees to water, “…that I very much intend to have you.”  
  
Greg realized that he had been kidding himself if he ever thought he was going to be the one in charge of this encounter. From the moment he had lain eyes on this man, he should have known that control flowed in him with each beat of his heart. Greg didn’t know who he was or what he did, but he knew instinctively that one would most certainly not want to draw this man’s ire. There would be no peeling him from his suit unless he himself wanted.  
  
Greg thought of the few blokes he had stripped and left begging and debauched, posh men he had set his sights on and left destroyed. Men he had teased and tempted and fucked into oblivion. He suddenly wished very much that he had called each and every one after those encounters, sending them flowers or fruit baskets as thanks, because he was very sure he was about to share their same fate. Only he was certain it was going to go much worse (better?) for him because even on his worst (best?) day, Gregory Lestrade knew his self control wouldn’t hold a candle to the man currently stating his intent to have Greg in the most carnal meaning of the word.  
  
_Seriously_ , Greg thought again as he was spun around, _I’m so fucked_. To his utter shock, he was thrown unceremoniously over a sartorially savvy shoulder and carried to the bedroom.  
  
He landed in the humongous bed, air whooshing from his lungs as an alarming number of assorted embroidered pillows spilled to the floor from the force of his deposit. He struggled to sit up, his tied hands making the task difficult, and only managed to sort of prop up on his elbows. His impression of the room was tasteful elegance, but he barely had time to glance before his attention was fixed on the suit clad creature that was standing next to the bed with a dangerous gleam in his eye and a wicked smile on his face.  
  
Greg felt his eyes go wide as his heart rate kicked up to an alarming pace. For some reason, he found himself inching backwards on the bed. Fingers snaked around his ankle as teeth flashed in the soft lighting.  
  
“Going somewhere, Gregory?” the voice was soft, gentle even. That didn’t stop the frisson of fear that coiled in the prone man’s hind brain, ancient animal instincts warning him of danger. He felt his eyes widen further, faintly aware in some part of his mind that he must look like a blushing virgin confronted with sex for the first time. He swallowed thickly, shaking his head in an attempt to mollify his captor. “Very good,” Mycroft cooed out, his soothing tone at odds with the sharpness of the smile on his thin lips.  
  
A thumb swept over the bone of Greg’s captive ankle, pressing to dip into the side of his shoe before it was untied and tossed to the floor. The other followed before those agile fingers peeled away his socks and gave them the same treatment as the discarded shoes. Fingertips trailed delicately over the arch of his foot before pressing more firmly. Greg’s abdominal muscles clenched and he arched forward, surprised by the cry that escaped his lips from the sensation. The rush of heat from his foot to his cock was entirely unexpected and it caught him off guard; enough so that he snatched his foot free and planted it on the bed.  
  
Greg let out an odd chuckle that was purely nerves. He risked a glance at those cool eyes, hoping he hadn’t earned himself some sort of punishment. The look on Mycroft’s face was one of someone who had just discovered some wonderful secret. He grasped Greg’s other foot with purpose and for a stretch of time Greg was aware only of fingers playing over the tendons of his feet, soft pads of fingertips teasing and tugging at each of his toes in turn, nails scraping into the curve of his arch and dipping in between his toes to drive him mad. If his hands weren’t secured behind his back, he would have shoved them over his mouth to stop the myriad of ungodly noises that were escaping his throat.  
  
When Mycroft released his foot, apparently satisfied with his explorations for the moment, Greg fell back on the bed only now aware that he was already quivering and gasping for air. And the man had only touched his feet.  
  
“Oh, Gregory,” Mycroft purred, “the things I want to do to you.”  
  
Those talented hands slid up Greg’s quivering, muscular thighs. The predatory advance was only paused to divest him of his trousers. They were also tossed without care over Mycroft’s shoulder to join the already abandoned shoes and socks. Greg’s jacket was pushed from his shoulders, though his tied hands would keep the clothing on his top half from being removed. But as Mycroft crawled onto the bed, nudging Greg’s legs apart as he did so, he didn’t seem in a hurry to remove Greg’s shirt.  
  
As Mycroft hovered over him, his gold watch chain dangled over Greg‘s belly. Greg’s eyes traveled over the still completely clothed form, stopping at those odd black buttons. That nose any aristocrat would be proud of nudged into the hair above Greg’s ear, lips brushing the shell of it as a liquid voice spoke, “Those buttons have been passed down in my family for generations. By now, they are probably worth over fifty pounds apiece. Since they are a perfect set of sixteen - six for the waistcoat, two for the front of the jacket, and eight for the cuffs - I imagine that pushes their worth up quite a bit more.”  
  
“That’s some interesting dirty talk,” Greg said. Though his attempt at cheek rather failed when his voice shook.  
  
“Perhaps. I thought you might enjoy the information as I happened to notice how much you seem to appreciate my suit.” Greg felt heat rush to  his face that had nothing to do with arousal.  “Oh, no. Don’t be embarrassed, Gregory. We all have things we find particularly…stimulating.”  
  
Fingers began to pluck at Greg’s astronomically less expensive buttons, tugging and twisting them in a very suggestive fashion.  
  
“As I was saying, these buttons are rather special. I wonder at all the things they have borne witness to over the years.” As Mycroft spoke, Greg’s own lackluster buttons were being pushed free. Mycroft was unbuttoning him with an impressive show of one handed dexterity. His shirt was peeled open, exposing his plain vest underneath. Greg prayed this one didn’t have any obvious holes visible. Mycroft sat back, dragging Greg’s thighs to rest on his own as his long fingers snaked underneath the vest, pushing it up as far as it could go and leaving it bunched underneath Greg’s armpits. He sat back on his heels, leaving Gregory feeling oddly vulnerable wearing only his pants, his chest exposed to Mycroft’s gaze.  
  
There was heat in the other man’s voice as he said, “I’d wager a fair sum that they have never seen such a lovely sight as this.”  
  
That proper voice had dropped low, sending another pulse to Greg’s cock, currently trapped in his snug black pants. He couldn’t repress a whimper as those wickedly long fingers trailed up over his belly, sifting through the grey speckled trail of hair there before moving to the stretch of more heavily greyed hair at his chest.  
  
“Beautiful,” Mycroft whispered, and it certainly sounded like he meant it.  
  
“You’re mad,” Greg said, and even he could hear the tinge of sadness that hung on the edges of those words. Greg knew he was just a sad old bisexual divorcee who didn’t have the drive to succeed in both his career and a relationship. He was well into middle age, grizzled and grey, and certainly nothing that this delicious man would want for more than a one nighter.  
  
“Perhaps, but that doesn’t make you any less beautiful.”  
  
Greg didn’t have much strength to argue as those fingers that he found so fascinating began to tweak and tug at his nipples. They pinched and rolled the dusky peaks until Greg was biting his lips to shut himself up. A soft laugh puffed air across the hair on his chest before warm, wet heat enveloped a hardened nub as Mycroft tugged a nipple into his mouth. He worked it mercilessly with tongue, teeth, and lips, effectively calling an end to Greg’s attempts to not sound like a moaning harlot. The fine fabric of Mycroft’s suit brushed along his belly, the gold watch chain and black carved buttons warming from the press of his skin.  
  
He was learning interesting things tonight: how sensitive his feet could be, how much antique button sets were worth, how good a Savile Row suit felt across his mostly naked body…but mostly how wonderful it was to let someone else take the reigns for once. How he wished he had realized long ago what pleasure would await him if he ceded control.  
  
But then again, he very seriously doubted there were many others out there like this man, this Mycroft. With his effortless gentility, his commanding eyes, his silken voice, his endless control and restraint. Perhaps the only reason he was willing to give up control was because the man to whom he had given it seemed the perfect person to entrust it to. A man who at this very moment had him ready to beg for release and he had yet to even touch his aching cock. Even as he thought of this, his nipples were abandoned as his pants were slowly being peeled away.  
  
Greg blushed, embarrassed at the string of pre-cum that stretched from the fabric to the tip of his cock, shiny with the excess that hadn’t been absorbed into the damp patch prominent on his pants.  
  
“ _Fuck,_ ” Mycroft cursed. The word was spoken long and low, the expletive strange and delicious in that eloquent mouth. Greg’s cock gave an unbidden bob at the word, another drop of clear liquid slipping down the curve of his exposed glans to gather along the edge of his foreskin. The sight of those immaculate fingers circling the plump head almost had Greg coming.  
  
“Not yet, my dear Gregory. Not quite yet.”  
  
And then lube was spirited from somewhere and those fingers were being coated in the slick liquid. Mycroft stared into Greg’s eyes, the icy depths heating as they locked onto the half lidded mahogany. His fingers danced teasing touches along the furled opening, fluttering gentle pressure and provoking half starts that barely slipped past Greg’s outer rim. After several minutes of this, Greg’s brain fizzled and he lost all thought of holding back.  
  
“Oh, ohh… _Fuck!_ ”, he sobbed. He pressed his head back on the duvet, trying in vain to arch his arse into the far too light press of fingers. Greg arched his spine, his toes spread out and digging into the soft bedding as his thighs quivered with the strain of trying to shift his arse further onto those cruel fingers. But he was easily evaded, Mycroft answering each surge and press with his own retreat. No matter what he did, those fingers never slipped where he wanted them.  
  
Strung out and desperate for deeper stimulation, Greg half snarled, half whimpered, “For fuck’s sake, could you _get the fuck on with it!_ "  
  
Mycroft _tsked_ at him, saying “Such language,” and giving him a look of mock disappointment before he thrust one long digit all the way in.  
  
“Ahhnn! Oh god, oh god…” Greg cried out at the sudden breach.  
  
“It’s Mycroft, my dear. I’d think that would be easy to remember.”  
  
Gregory’s brain registered the joke, but he wasn’t in any shape to be laughing as the slim finger pumping in and out of him at a maddeningly slow pace was joined by another. “Mycroft,” Greg choked out when those fingers caused that delicious burn, twisting to soothe it with a bare skim of his prostate. “Oh! Mycroft, please…please.”  
  
“Oh, that is lovely.” Another fluttering stroke across his prostate, too quickly removed to give Greg any real reprieve. “Yes, just like that, beg me to fuck you, you gorgeous creature.”  
  
And beg he did. He pleaded for Mycroft’s cock, his fingers. He promised to do anything, be anything, as he shook and shivered while those fingers scissored and slid, hooking inside him but never quite enough.  
  
“Please, My,” he faintly heard himself say, wondering where along the way he had stopped struggling to the end of the name, “Please. Fuck me please…I need it…need you in me.” His voice was ragged, harsh from the tension his body had been held in for so long.  
  
“Almost, love. Just a little more,” and Greg could have wept in relief at the promise as a third finger slid inside him.  
  
When ‘a little more’ stretched on into another interminable length of exquisite torture, Greg began to worry for his sanity.  
  
“Please!” Greg cried out, his voice desperate and shaking, the volume something that would be overheard by the neighbors if they were in his crappy flat. “ _Please!_ ”, he cried again, worried that very soon he would actually be weeping.  
  
The fingers left him, arching a hard rub over his prostate as they slipped free. He looked down his body, his prick thick and bobbing, rivulets of pre-cum slithering down the shaft from how long he had been denied. He watched Mycroft’s hands move to his trousers, the fly being opened to let a perfect cock slip free. Long and slim, the foreskin letting the dusky pink head peek out, the shaft thickening at the base. Greg got only a peek of the ginger hair there before a condom was rolled in place, the slight tremor of the hands the only sign that Mycroft was as anxious as Greg.  
  
“Yes, yes,” Greg babbled. “Please, My. Oh fuck, please…” He looked up to Mycroft’s face as he felt the head of that lovely cock line up.  
  
Heat flashed across those cold eyes and Greg hardly had time to process the look of sheer possessiveness in them before he was slowly but steadily impaled in one long, languorous push. Mycroft leaned over him once he was fully seated, allowing Greg time to adjust to the length and breadth of him. Mycroft kissed him slowly, tenderly swallowing the little murmurs of pleasure and gratitude Greg didn’t realize he was making.  
  
“Perfect,” Mycroft whispered across his lips between kisses. “Gregory, you are absolutely perfect. Just like I knew you would be.”  
  
The endearments trickled along Greg’s awareness, sending waves of tender delight through his core. He wanted to be closer to the man currently buried inside him, he wanted to wrap him up even more, show him how much this was affecting him, how much he needed someone to tell him he was worthy, worth time and attention. Show him how much thanks he felt at being told he was worth the effort. He didn’t have use of his arms, but Greg wrapped his legs around Mycroft’s waist, locking his ankles together.  
  
The move made him gasp as Mycroft slipped even deeper, brushing over that perfect spot. They moaned in tandem and finally, finally, Mycroft began to move. The taller man pushed up on his arms, watching Greg with those odd eyes that seemed to see too much. The new angle caused the buttons on Mycroft’s waistcoat to bump along the wet head of Greg’s aching cock, each contact sending a spike of pleasure through to his bollocks.  
  
“Gregory,” Mycroft drawled, and Greg forced himself to focus on those sharp eyes, but they weren‘t looking at his own any longer, instead they were focused between their bodies. Greg dragged his attention down, down to where his cock was leaving a trail of clear fluid on Mycroft’s pristine waistcoat.  
  
“You’re getting my buttons dirty," Mycroft drawled out in that ridiculously posh voice.  
  
Greg's mouth fell open as he watched. Each thrust caused more of the substance to gather on the row of antique buttons, making them shine obscenely in the light. And, absurdly, the thought of his cock leaking all over those ludicrously expensive buttons short circuited something in Greg’s brain. With a flash of clarity, he realized that he was being wonderfully, gloriously fucked by a stunning man who was in the most exquisite suit he had ever seen. A suit whose very _buttons_ had a history. A shudder ran through the pit of his groin, an inexorable heat building as he watched himself dirty those flower-carved buttons.  
  
“Can’t,” he shivered out, trying to warn of his impending orgasm, too long denied and now building with each drag along that spot inside his perfectly tilted arse and gentle knock of black buttons along the head of his cock.  
  
“Ohhh, yesss.” Mycroft hissed above him, watching that same line of buttons bumping over the head of Greg’s cock. “Go on then. If you’re going to get them dirty, then _do it right_.”  
  
And the slow silken thrusts changed dramatically, hips switching from a gliding slide to a slapping staccato. Between the sharp strikes to his prostate and the thought of coming all over those aged buttons, Greg didn’t stand a chance.  
  
He quivered, his body riding the crest of pleasure far longer than he thought possible before it folded in on itself and he fell headlong into a wracking orgasm. He watched as his cock pulsed hot spurts of semen all over his chest and stomach. Some part of his brain registered that he screamed out, "My!" just as his lover grated out a harsh "Gregory!", both of their attention on the lewd sight of his pearly ejaculate dripping in long threads from  heirloom buttons before Greg passed out.  
  
He woke briefly, struggling for awareness from his pleasant haze as fingers worked gently on his arms and shoulders. Those terribly talented fingers were working out knots that had been settled into the muscles long before anyone thought to restrain him with his own tie. When he tried to move - his foggy brain telling him he should go home as he would overstay his welcome - a gentle voice shushed him as those fingers carded gently through his hair along with a soft kiss to his temple. “Stay. Stay with me, Gregory. Let me take care of you,” flitted across his consciousness.  
  
And that sounded like the best idea Greg had heard in a very, very long time.  
  
  
  
  
Mycroft’s buttons:   http://www.vintagebuttons.net/bglass/bgshavemult1a.jpg  
  
Mycroft’s suit:   http://people.rit.edu/spd2207/240/Project%20II/media/mycroft.jpg  



	2. Button: The First

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg wakes up to an empty bed after a night of unexpected passion. A dismissive note sends him on his way and he doesn't expect to hear from or see Mycroft again. But sometimes, things work out differently than one expects...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had some requests for more of this story, and as I apparently find it near impossible to do pure PWP, here is an offering of more plot. Do not worry, more porn is yet to come. Hehe. I made a funny.

Brollies and Buttons

Chapter Two

Button: The First

* * *

 

  
“New shirt, sir?” Sally asked when she peeked into Greg’s office.  
  
“Yeah,” he answered casually, hoping against hope that would be the end of the morning greeting.  
  
She handed him a cup of coffee, giving him a thorough look over before saying, “I like it.”  
  
Greg went on high alert.  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
“It goes real good with that new tie. You’re suit’s looking nice, too. It’s so revived from its usual state I almost didn’t realize it was the same one you were wearing last night.“  
  
“…”  
  
“Of course, that shirt and tie are a far sight better looking than your usual. If I had to guess, I’d say you didn’t buy them. Have a good evening with that posh bloke?”  
  
“I have nice shirts!”  
  
“Sure you do. But there’s nice, and there’s _nice_. And I bet those came from leaving somewhere _nice_ this morning.”  
  
“Don’t you have something you need to be doing, Sergeant?”  
  
“I’ll take that as a yes. But don’t feel bad sir, as walks of shame go, you’re pulling it off quite stylishly.”  
  
“Let me rephrase that; unless you want me to give you something to do - which might involve scraping up the leftovers from our next really gruesome murder - I suggest you shove off.”  
  
“All right, all right. Don’t get your knickers in a twist. Well, if they _are_ your knickers. Course, once somebody gives them to you, I guess they become yours.”  
  
Greg spluttered into his coffee, and Sally grinned madly at him before she left his office. In her joke, she had hit right on the truth.  
  
Thatmorning, Greg had woken up when the alarm on his phone went off. An alarm he didn’t remember setting. Actually, the last thing he did remember about last night was waking up to steady hands turning his tight shoulders and arms into putty. The same hands that had turned the rest of him into mush earlier in the evening. Delicious, tied up, coming-harder-than-he-ever-had mush.  
  
A small shiver flitted across his skin as he remembered last night. The way the fine weave of suit fabric had felt against his thighs, how seemingly thin lips had teased his own. How deft fingers had opened him slowly, gently…thoroughly.  
  
And then this morning he had awoken to a freshly cleaned suit, new shirt and tie, new socks, and - yes, Sally, thanks for that - new pants. And all of it was quite a sight better than the usual quality of those items than Greg was used to.  
  
There had also been a note written in perfect, flowing penmanship. Greg was sure the stationary it was on was fine enough to sport a letter to the Queen herself.  
  
However, the words had been brief and dismissive.  
  
_Gregory,_

  
_Thank you for the wonderful evening. I took the liberty of providing you with clothing for the day. Breakfast has been provided for you in the dining room. My staff will arrive shortly to attend to household duties, so do not trouble yourself with straightening the linens. The new clothing is yours, consider it a small tokenof my thanks for your company._  
  
_Cordially,_  
_Mycroft_  
  
When he read it Greg had thought, ‘That’s how you send someone off with class.’  
  
It had still pissed him off and if his shirt or tie had been anywhere in sight, he would have left the ‘tokens’ behind. Of course, after last nights abuse to said tie, he was pretty sure it had probably found its new resting place in the bin.

He had dressed in a hurry, not even bothering to avail himself of the bathroom he was sure was attatched to Mycroft's bedroom. Instead, he had popped into work early enough to have a go at his hair in the men's room.  
  
After the way Mycroft had called his name, spoken to him, told him he was beautiful, Greg had hoped…  
  
Well, that was foolish. The small tenderness that he had experienced last night was probably standard for the man who had spoken them. Greg wondered how many other poor sods had fallen into those talented hands. It should be enough that for one night he had been allowed to bask in the attention of the gorgeous being who had left him thoroughly wrecked. It was too much to hope for more of that delicious debauchery.  
  
He sighed, pushing immaculate suits and filthy buttons out of his mind as he dove into the tasks of the day.  
  
*****  
  
By the time lunch rolled around - and right past - Greg was up to his knees in rubbish in a back alley. Why? Because that’s where two idiots had decided was a good place to dump a body. Two idiots that had been ridiculously easy to find because there were witnesses that placed them with the deceased right up to the estimated time of death.  
  
By the time dinner had rolled around - and right past, they had the two suspects in custody. They were processed, physical evidence bagged and tagged and sent off for forensics. There was enough there that Greg had no doubt they had the right people. There were track marks up and down each of their arms just like the victim, and they were both under the influence, so if Greg had to guess, the whole damn thing was over drugs.  
  
Such a stupid, blind, idiotic, _waste_ of life.  
  
It was well into night before Greg trudged back to his office and slumped in his seat, his head in his hands.  
  
And that was when he noticed an envelope on his desk. The label was in familiar looking script, and it simply read, _‘Gregory‘_.  
  
How in the hell did Mycroft know where he worked? Much less exactly where his office was? The little niggling in his brain that said, _Powerful with a capital ‘P’_ returned as he eyed the fine grain of the item staring back up at him from the surface of his desk.  
  
He lifted it, curious when something slid around inside. He paused for a moment before getting up to close his office door. It was late at night so there were very few people milling around, but he didn’t want to take any chances.  
  
He swallowed as he took his seat once more and picked up the fine paper. If anyone ever asked, he absolutely would not admit to the staggering amount of nervous butterflies that were tearing around in his stomach as he ripped the envelope open.  
  
There was a note inside, along with a second, smaller envelope. He pulled the note free, unfolding it with slightly trembling fingers.

 _Dear Gregory,_  
  
_I apologize if this contact is unwanted; however, I felt the need to clarify my actions of this morning. I believe you may have misconstrued my absence. I assure you, it was nothing to do with yourself nor the activities we enjoyed together last night.  If you have no wish to spend further time in my company, please ignore the following request._  
  
_Would you please open the second envelope?_

  
_Sincerely,_  
_Mycroft_  
  
      
Greg hadn’t expected the lightness that would flow over him from such few words. He wondered what he was getting himself into as he carefully picked up the remaining missive. Would this be an invite to another night of passion?  
  
He tried to ignore the want for more, the whisper of pleasure he remembered at finding himself praised so genuinely last night. He slid his finger beneath the seal of the second envelope, holding his breath as he separated the flap and looked inside to see what was distorting the corner of the paper.  
  
A button. But not just any button, oh no. This was one of _the_ buttons.  
  
He was glad he was alone. His face grew so hot at the memory of what exactly had happened involving this particular set of buttons, he was sure he must be scarlet. He took it out carefully, watching the light glint off shiny black flowers before he placed the jet disk on his desk as he pulled out a second note.  
  
_Dear Gregory,_  
  
_I have found that you have occupied my mind ever since I arose this morning. This may seem a short time to you, but I assure you, I do not dwell on such experiences as we shared. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that I have never shared such an experience as I did with you with another. You are singular and I find that I must not let you slip so quietly from my grasp._  
  
_If you are reading this, then I will take the audacity to assume that you would not be averse to more time spent with my person. If that is so, I would like to offer you an invite to dine with me tomorrow evening._  
  
_I took the liberty of having this delivered to your workplace, and as such I understand the nature of your career. If you decide to accept my invitation, I will gladly align my schedule with whatever you find convenient. Please tell my Assistant what time would work best for you so that your transportation can be provided._  
  
_I look forward to sharing your company once more._  
  
_Sincerely Yours,_  
_Mycroft Holmes_  
  
  
Greg dropped the note and picked up the black button. It rested with an unexpected weight between his fingers as he rolled it, looking at it for answers. The whole thing was surreal and he wondered if he should give himself a good pinch. Was he dreaming? Who wrote notes like that? And more importantly, shouldn’t he be concerned the man knew where he worked?  
  
He remembered the glint of predator in those grey eyes, the waves of confident power that had rolled off of the man in the perfect suit. Greg knew without a doubt that Mycroft was Somebody Important. But which side of the fence did his power rest on?  
  
A sharp knock on his door had him jerking with a start. A young woman wearing a smart black dress stepped into his office without waiting for him to invite her.  
  
“Good Evening, Detective Inspector. I’ve been sent to retrieve your response.” She smiled slyly, her eyes going to his clenched fist, which housed the button. The woman was more than likely young enough to be his daughter, but he couldn’t fight the heat that rose to his face when her smile turned knowing.  
  
“What?” Greg offered lamely.  
  
“My employer has requested your company for dinner tomorrow night. What time would be best for you?” Her eyebrows rose expectantly along with her hands, which were holding a blackberry, her fingers poised to record his answer no doubt.  
  
“I-I’m not sure. I’ll probably be here late again…I don’t want to put him out.” Greg finally managed.  
  
The young woman smiled brightly, “Please don’t worry, I promise you that whatever time you decide will not be a problem.”  
  
“…Okay. I guess, would around nine o’clock be alright?” It wasn’t late for Greg to be eating dinner. If anything it was a bit early, but he wasn’t sure what kind of schedule Mycroft had.  
  
“Perfect. The car will be waiting.” And with that, she turned on her smart black heel and strode from his office.  
  
Greg sat blinking as she left, suddenly wondering what in the hell he was going to wear that wouldn’t embarrass him while dining in some fancy restaurant with Mycroft.  
  
Whose last name he was just now learning, even though they had already had sex.

  
*****  
  
By the time nine o’clock rolled around the next evening, Gregory Lestrade was exhausted. Embarrassingly enough, because of his upcoming meeting with Mycroft and all the things that could entail, he had hardly slept. Of course, he went without sleep regularly; it was part and parcel with his profession. Lack of sleep was only one contributing factor to his bone deep exhaustion.  
  
The case involving the two friends turned murderers had been picked up first thing this morning. It was open and close, an easy one that should have Greg pumping his fist in triumph. Instead, it had drained him.  
  
The two friends had been apprehended the night before, both of them high as a kite, and they had been tossed into lockup until they could sleep it off. Greg had been there for the questioning first thing in the morning. It was clear to all present within minutes that neither one remembered anything from the previous night. Both men had turned ashen when the pictures of their murdered friend were shown to them. But that was nothing to their reactions when they were presented with the overwhelming evidence that they had been the ones to beat him to death for less than an estimated £100.00 worth of drugs.  
  
Waste. What a bloody, fucking, stupid, _stupid_ waste.  
  
One person dead, killed by people who Greg doubted would walk past a homeless puppy when they were sober.  
  
Greg loved his job most days. He had worked his way up with hard work and determination to get to where he was now. He was damn good at what he did and a damn sight proud of what he had accomplished.  
  
But days like today ate at him. Crimes of passion, of jealousy, betrayal, and good old fashioned anger rarely got under his skin; to do what he did you had to be good at compartmentalizing. But some things weighed on him; abuse, anything to do with children, hate crimes, and senseless, pointless, violence.  
  
Killing one of your best friends for drugs while high out of you mind was about the most pointlessly violent crime there was.  
  
He really wasn’t up for a…whatever it was that he was meeting up with Mycroft for, but he had no way of calling or contacting him to cancel or reschedule. Not to mention, he wasn’t sure if Mycroft _would_ reschedule. He resisted pulling out the note from his wallet to read again, since he could probably recite it word for word by now. Instead, he pulled the button out of his pocket, studying it as if it would give him the answer.  
  
Greg remembered sure fingers, hungry kisses, piercing grey eyes, boundless control…and a soft gentleness that had been completely unexpected.  
  
He palmed the button and leaned on his fist, remembering the tone of the note he had received. It hadn’t sounded like someone just looking to get a leg up; it had sounded like an option to pursue something _more_.  
  
He pocketed the black disk before walking to the door to wait for the car that would take him to the man who was offering that possibility.  
  
*****  
  
Greg was escorted through a side entrance to a private room where Mycroft was already seated at a table. The ride over had him feeling a bit low class; the car in which he had been driven likely worth more than his flat. Now, seeing the man in another of those pristine suits - slate grey this time, with charcoal pinstripes, a soft blue satin tie and matching pocket square - seated at a table that looked like something out of a magazine, Greg was feeling more like a raggedy old flannel.  
  
For a moment, he had the near overwhelming desire to shove the crisp young man who had led him to this room out of his way and make a dash for the nearest pub for a pint or ten. Before he could do so, Mycroft’s attention turned to him and he rose from his seat, moving to the chair opposite and pulling it back. Even from across the room, those piercing grey eyes pinned him in place, just like they had the first time.  
  
So much for escape.  
  
It was odd, having his chair held for him, but Greg found that it didn’t bother him like he would have thought. Perhaps it was the way Mycroft seemed to think nothing of the action, as if it were both normal and expected. He moved gracefully to his own seat once he had settled Greg’s.  
  
“Thank you for meeting me again, Gregory. I was very grateful when you accepted my invitation.”  
  
Greg was used to being stared down, but he had to fight the urge to squirm under Mycroft’s steady gaze.  
  
“Sure. It was a bit of a surprise.” The young man who had led him in had disappeared, another stepping up to pour wine into their glasses before disappearing as well.  
  
“I took the liberty of ordering our wine as well as a simple dinner. If you would prefer something else please do not hesitate to ask.”  
  
“I’m sure it’s fine,” he paused, “You probably guessed I don’t know the first thing about either fine wine or cuisine. I’d just make a fool of myself if I tried to act like I do.”  
  
“I do not think you a fool at all, and - if I may - might I ask why my invitation surprised you?”  
  
Greg picked up his glass, taking a large swallow even as he was aware that was not how it was meant to be drunk. He lowered the glass halfway before reconsidering and raising it to down the entire contents.  
  
Mycroft watched him drain the glass, not showing even a twitch of irritation or disgust as he reached for the bottle and refilled it with fluid ease. Greg smiled at him a little sheepishly, and was relieved when he saw amusement reflected in his companion’s face. He took a more socially acceptable sip of his wine this time before he set the delicate glass on the table, his fingers tracing the stem while he arranged his thoughts. He decided for blunt honesty, after all, that’s who he was.  
  
“I was - am - surprised because I don’t know why you’d want to see me again. You’re obviously way out of my social circle: the car, the clothes…this restaurant. I mean, the only way they’d let me in here is if someone got killed and I was on the case. Even then, I doubt I’d meet the dress code. I’m old. I’m going soft around the middle because I eat takeaway nearly every single day. I couldn’t tell you the last time I got a good night‘s sleep. I work too much. My ex wife slept with half the country because I was never home. I’m a divorced workaholic with a tiny flat that’s filled with second hand furniture that’s been around longer than my marriage lasted. And I was married for ten years.”  
  
There. Now Mycroft would toss him out for being a rude bastard and he could go back to his tiny flat with his ancient furniture and drink himself into oblivion. Or the rest of the way into oblivion. Chugging that absolutely amazing glass of wine on an empty stomach was certainly not the smartest thing he’d ever done. He blinked across the table as soup was set in front of himself and a salad was set in front of Mycroft.  
  
Instead of tossing Greg out on his ear, the man shook out his napkin, picked up his salad fork and began to eat. Once he had chewed and swallowed his first bite, he looked up and regarded Greg with his eyebrows raised slightly.  
  
“Is that all?”  
  
Greg sank back into his chair with a small smile, shook out his own napkin even as he shook his head. In for a penny and all that.  
  
“No. But I’m afraid what I might say next could end with my demise.”  
  
“I believe you are now obligated to tell me.”  
  
“Well, I may not be the brightest bloke, but something tells me you’re out of my league in more than just class. Cars, clothes, posh flats…Anyone with money can get that, but…” he trailed off, mainly because he knew he was right and in knowing, he could easily step somewhere very wrongly.  
  
He looked up to grey eyes regarding him sharply.  
  
“But?” Mycroft prompted.  
  
Greg swallowed, meeting the eyes and plodding on.  
  
“But. You aren’t just rich, you’ve got the bearing of someone who knows what’s what. If I had to guess, I’d say your somewhere in the stratosphere. And if I wanted to be really stupid, and it seems I do, I’d say that was somewhere in the dark corners of political intrigue…Or possible darker corners that have nothing to do with the government.”  
  
He held his breath even as he held the icy gaze. In his job, Greg knew there were worlds in the underground that worked like well oiled machines. And when those ran across something he was investigating, it invariably ended with a bunch of suits coming in and taking over any and every piece of evidence and information he and his team had gathered. Thankfully, it happened very rarely, though the last time had been only a few months ago, and as per usual, he’d heard not a peep to do with that particular case since. Nor would he. When it happened, Greg knew there was someone on each side pulling the strings, but which side was Mycroft on?  
  
While he watched, Mycroft’s expression slid from pleased to wide eyed astonishment. And it was done purposefully slow so that Greg could see the transition.  
  
“Why, Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade, I am merely a minor official in the British government.”  
  
So, not dining with a terrorist cell leader or mob boss, but no doubt dining with someone who pulled the strings in the highest and deepest levels of government. The confirmation by denial, with full use of his title, should have been enough to send him running from the table.  
  
Instead, Greg laughed and said, “Yeah. And I’m the Queen’s bit of rough.”  
  
“Oh dear,” Mycroft sighed before selecting a small bit of mandarin with his fork. “That will make my next meeting with her quite awkward. I do hate having to apologize to Her Majesty. Especially as it seems I may have unknowingly poached in her territory.”  
  
Greg chuckled, but there was no humor in it this time. He swirled his spoon in his soup, sure that if it took a bite it would taste like ash in his mouth. It wasn’t the fact that now he was sure the man across from him _did_ have meetings with the Queen that settled like lead in his stomach. It was the teasing allusion to what Greg had called himself.  
  
He had thought he would be all right with being that - a bit of rough - if it meant he’d be treated to a night like the last they had spent together. But now, with the rush of adrenaline that had carried from the ride over to this point fading away, Greg felt the full crush of today’s exhaustion and frustration settle over him along with a new disappointment.  
  
God, he was too old, too tired, too fucking desperate for some real human interaction to settle for being someone’s working class thrill. He knew every time someone in one of those suits had let him indulge, they were indulging in their own kink. And that was fine, really, he had been doing the same thing and that was enough for him. It had been enough for the last few years after his divorce to just indulge in a few nights of lust.  
  
But not now…  
  
He had to be honest with himself, and that meant that wasn’t what he wanted now. He knew the man staring at him while he played with his soup was not going to be someone he could enjoy a torrid affair with, not if their association was going to continue in the same vein as that first night had.  
  
Greg had offered up something that night and it had been handled with care and full capability. If they continued on that path, Greg would continue to give more and more little pieces of himself, and by the time Mycroft tired of him, he wouldn’t have anything left. He dropped his spoon, the clink as it hit the china loud in the silence that had fallen between them.  
  
“What do you want from me?”  
  
Long, elegant fingers placed the silver salad fork on the table with purpose before those unnerving grey eyes pinned him for a long moment. Greg watched as Mycroft made a sharp dismissive gesture with his hand, no doubt sending away people who were hidden from sight. After a few more moments of silence, Mycroft spoke one word.  
  
“Everything.”  
  
Greg stared at him, hope and denial warring in his chest, but he had to be sure.  
  
“And by everything, you don’t mean you plan to set me up as your kept man until you get sick of me? Toss me out when you’re done?”  
  
Mycroft’s face barely moved, but somehow, Greg got the sense that Mycroft was shocked at the suggestion.  
  
“Gregory, I do not usually indulge in more than brief, shall we say, dalliances. I am a man whose very nature is one of control, and to be frank, it is something I crave. Everyday I must intimidate, cajole, threaten, wheedle, and deceive in order to either wrest it from others or wield my own.  
  
It is a part of who I am as much as my need for oxygen. I ply my trade in control and I would not have it any other way. It is why I am so perfectly suited for my…profession.  
  
Forgive me for being presumptuous, but I see a different need in yourself. You are also a man in control, someone who wields their own great sense of responsibility for the people of our beloved country. However, our difference in this is that I wield it out of my own need, and you out of necessity for others. Most might be incapable of the subtle, and yet extremely vast difference between the two, but I suspect you are not.  
  
I cannot tell you how wondrous it was to watch you place your complete trust in me, nor how much such trust affected me. You ceded your control with the absolute faith that I would not betray that trust.  
  
It was…extraordinary. I meant it when I said you were singular, Gregory. I cannot believe you do not see your own vast appeal. And I certainly do not mean as a sexual being, though your qualities there are beyond number.”  
  
“You talk about control, and yeah, I can say I agree with what you’ve said, but how far are you expecting me to give it up? I may be more than happy to loose the reigns to you in the bedroom, but I’ve no interest in being a kept man. I’ve seen things - horrible things - when someone tries to take back control from someone who doesn’t want to give it. And while you don’t strike me as the type that would beat me to a pulp, I’m not so stupid to think you couldn’t do something to cut off my exits.”  
  
The way Mycroft smiled at him was both complimentary and chilling.  
  
“Your intelligence and observation is far above the masses; already you know more about myself than only a handful of people. You are not wrong in your measure of my abilities or willingness to take action, for they are sometimes less than what might be considered ethical.  
  
However, I assure you I have no desire for someone who mindlessly obeys me. Neither do I want someone whose day to day life must be managed by my hand. I want a partner, not a sycophant. You endear trust by the strength of your character, I believe you would find it obvious that I am not someone who endears trust in such a way. It was your willingness to trust me that I found so heady, and forcing your hand would in no way please me. I cannot promise that I will never overstep my bounds, for I actually fear that will certainly come to pass at some point, however, I can promise that I will stop if you tell to do so.  
  
Gregory, I believe we would be well matched, something I would like the chance to prove if you will allow me.”  
  
Greg weighed Mycroft’s words. Both those that were spoken and those had been written held the same tone of intent. There was no deception that he could find. There had perhaps not been full disclosure either, but Greg suspected he had been offered as much as the man could give.  
  
And suddenly, he accepted it, what Mycroft had been trying to tell him, what he himself had been trying to deny or rationalize away: Greg held all of the power. It was his choice to relinquish it or not, to trust or not, to let go or not.  
  
Remembered words flitted across his consciousness, _“Stay. Stay with me, Gregory. Let me take care of you.”_  
  
And he wanted that, he really, really bloody did. Not for someone to run his life, not for someone to subject his will, but someone to take him into their hands, make to the choices even if only for a little while. He longed to let go and let someone else take care of him the way he did for others.  
  
“All right,” Greg said as he picked up his soup spoon,  “I’ll give you a chance.”  
  
The rest of dinner went smoothly, more so than Greg had expected. Somewhere after his third glass of wine he had found himself sharing his exhaustion and frustration from the last few days. To his surprise, Mycroft listened to him, even responding with his own frustrations to the waste of life that came from drug use. There was one of those flashes of emotion when he spoke of it, a look of anger and despair, and Greg knew someone Mycroft loved was the reason those emotions were in the man’s eyes.  
  
“Who?” Greg had asked, wondering if Mycroft would answer. He was greeted with silence for a long stretch while Mycroft lined up his silverware precisely on the table.  
  
“My younger brother.” Mycroft had laughed then, a short sound without any joy. “I’ve tried to help him, but he…His mind is brilliant, but it does not spare him when it is idle. Nothing I have offered has been accepted. He despises me.”  
  
For a moment, Mycroft looked exhausted, his regal bearing slipping enough that he looked every bit as tired as Greg felt.  
  
It made him more human to Greg than anything he had seen so far.

 

 

  
  
  
  
  
Mycroft's suit this round.  
http://www.rantlifestyle.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/06/wellingtongoose.tumblr.com_.jpg


	3. Button: The Second

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After dinner, Greg finds himself back in Mycroft's home...and his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huzzah! More smexy times as promised!

Brollies and Buttons

Chapter Three

Button: The Second

* * *

 

His arrival back at Mycroft’s home somehow had an air of inevitability. Neither man spoke as Mycroft took their coats and hung them in a hidden closet in the foyer. He followed the taller man as he made his way to the same room he had been in only a few nights ago.  
  
The heavy and silent atmosphere was an eternity away from that first night. As he stood on the threshold of that familiar yet alien bedroom, Greg once again had a moment of panic and desire to flee. Mycroft turned to look at him as he stood there, silently watching and waiting for the panic to pass. When he held out an elegant hand, palm up, Greg took it and was pulled gently into the room.  
  
The first night he hadn’t paid that much attention to the trappings of the bedroom, but as Mycroft disappeared into what must be the en suite, Greg studied the atmosphere of the room. He stopped where Mycroft left him, looking around as he was left alone.  
  
The room was masculine, but not overwhelmingly so. The walls were the color of rich coffee, frames of wide rectangles done in trim that matched the cream found in the textiles of the room. On the wall of the room facing the street, there were heavy velvet curtains of deep blue hanging over what must be floor to ceiling windows. The matte brocade valances were dripping with sea foam green tassels that would have looked ridiculous if not for the scale of the window hangings.  
  
The duvet and its many pillows were covered in fabrics in shades of royal blues and creams, a splash of sea foam green here and there. The bed was massive, and Greg already knew how high the thread count on the sheets were from experience.  He smiled at the mountain of plush embroidered pillows that were piled high on it, remembering how they had tumbled to the floor when he had been tossed in their midst. He moved to run his hand up one of the carved pillars of the four poster bed, the dark polished wood solid and smooth under his fingers.  
  
Across from the edge of the bed there was a massive fireplace set into the wall, the mantle sporting a heavy clock. Greg walked to it, crossing over a large Persian rug that lay between the bed and fireplace, its pattern an intricate weave of all the colors in the room, the edges sporting perfectly unruffled fringe. The plush rug beneath his feet was probably worth a fortune - just like everything else in the room - and he could feel the piles shift to accommodate his weight. For a moment, he had an image of himself naked, his head cradled as gently in long, slim fingers as his knees and shins would be by the decadent rug, a fire burning and casting both warmth and flickering light across his skin as he worked the length of Mycroft‘s cock into his mouth.  
  
He flushed and turned away to sit in the lone chair in the room. There was no doubt the leather wingback was probably an antique, but the low table next to it pointed to its practical use. Greg sank into its comfort, musing at how surreal this entire situation felt. He sat for a few moments, lost in thoughts that had heat growing deep in his belly before Mycroft stepped into his line of vision. Greg blinked up at him, startled to see he was still ensconced in his perfect suit.  
  
When he was led wordlessly to the en suite, which was easily the largest bathroom he’d ever been in in his life, Greg managed not to moan in envy. The elegant opulence of the bedroom carried over to the en suite, the same colors reflected in the blue walls and the cream marble of the sink, shower, and enormous tub.  
  
Mycroft had filled the marble counter of the double sink with items for Greg’s use. There was a mountain of supplies for shaving, a new toothbrush along with paste, no less than three extremely fluffy towels and a matching flannel, a verifiable assortment of toiletries to choose from, and a robe so plush Greg was sure he’d be ruined for his own ratty one at home forever. Bewildered, he turned to look at Mycroft, who was standing in the doorway with one hand on the doorknob, watching him. To Greg’s amusement, the other man looked mildly embarrassed.  
  
“Do you need anything else?” Mycroft asked.  
  
“No,” Greg answered, not even trying to keep his smile from showing. “I think I’m good.”  
  
Mycroft nodded and closed the door, leaving Greg to stare at the pile of supplies left behind for him. He rooted through them, picking up a shampoo and shaving cream before choosing the bar of soap that looked the least fancy. He shook his head and took up the razor, hoping that one day soon he would get to use the tub, perhaps with company if he were lucky.    
  
He turned the hot water on in the sink, shaking his head again when steam rose almost immediately from the stream. He usually had to wait for several minutes for hot enough water in his own home. When he had finished shaving, he stepped into the shower, not surprised when he was greeted by six shower heads happily blasting him from all directions with steaming water, easing the tension from his body as he scrubbed himself thoroughly with the soft flannel lathered copiously with the frothy soap.  
  
By the time he had wrapped himself up in the luxurious robe and stepped into the bedroom, he was feeling loose-limbed and relaxed. He stepped into the room, glancing around before his eyes lit on Mycroft, who was sitting in the lone armchair, a book in his hands but his eyes firmly fixed on Greg.  
  
The book was closed and placed aside without the attention ever wavering. Greg waited, taking in the man who stood fluidly, his suit jacket gone and his shirtsleeves rolled up almost to the elbow. Even as his own naked feet were taken in, he took in the lightly furred naked forearms and socked feet of his companion. His breathing grew deeper as Mycroft moved towards him, hands reaching to tug on the tie of the robe.  
  
It was different than that first time, knowing consciously that he was going to let Mycroft lead him, that he was placing himself into those capable hands.  
  
He stood still as the robe was pushed from his shoulders, it fell with a soft sound to pool around his feet on the floor. Mycroft walked around him, trailing touches across Greg's shoulders to keep him grounded as he nudged the robe out of his path with a socked foot. Greg shivered and his eyes fell closed as hands flattened out over the jut of his shoulder blades, slipping down to map out the skin of his back in long strokes. Fingers followed the curve of his spine, delicate waves of chills climbing up Greg’s skin as the bumps of his vertebrae were traced with a single finger. Warm hands wrapped over the curves of his shoulder joints, tracing the path of firm muscle up until his neck was encased fully in a tangle of palms and fingers. Agile thumbs pressed over the bones at the back of his skull, loosening tension and working further into his grey strands.  
  
Greg didn’t even notice when he began to sway into the touches; his mind letting go of all thoughts except the brush of dry, warm hands, and the heat radiating from the body of the man in whom he had decided to entrust himself. He was pulled gently back, his head pushed to rest against a solid shoulder as those fingers dug deeper into his scalp, nails scratching through the damp strands to pull soft moans from his lips. Light touches traced over his forehead, following the curve of his brows down to the freshly shaven skin of his cheeks and neck, skirting down the length of his throat before dipping to run over the edge of his clavicle.  
  
He felt warm breath in the crook of his neck then, lips trailing over the heavy pulse of his blood flowing through his carotid artery, nestled just beneath the skin. A soft, sucking kiss was pressed there, and when Greg’s mouth fell open with a soft gasp from the sensation, fingers were pressed just inside of his lips. They explored gently, rolling along the inside of his bottom lip, never pushing further until Greg beckoned them in with a touch of his tongue. Even then, their pressure remained gentle, exploratory. The pads of fingertips traced along the edge of his teeth, running softly over the twining muscle of his tongue. A hot rush of air gusted into his ear when he bit down gently, sucking on those wickedly agile fingers.  
  
“Gregory,” was growled softly into his ear and he shivered as those fingers were extracted slowly from his sucking grip. Greg could feel the rise and fall of the other man's chest. Mycroft was breathing heavily now, though not as heavily as the man in his arms. Fingers damp with saliva trailed over Greg’s chest, their dry twins matching the movement as they brushed over and through his chest hair, settling to tease at his nipples. Greg groaned, rolling his head forward to watch as those fantasy inducing fingers rolled and plucked at him. They pressed and teased, sending shocks of pleasure straight to his cock as Mycroft scraped the hardened nubs with his blunt nails. When he pinched and tugged, Greg arched his back, pressing his chest forward to alleviate the sting. His hands, held all this time at his side in clenching and unclenching fists, reached back instinctively to grasp at Mycroft’s thighs.  
  
At this the nimble fingers left his nipples, skating down his arms to untangle his grip on Mycroft’s trousers before leading Greg to the bed. He watched as Mycroft climbed up first, tossing pillows off onto the floor before settling back against the headboard with pillows not meant for decoration piled behind him. When beckoned, Greg followed him, allowing himself to be turned to rest his back against Mycroft’s chest and his legs to be draped over Mycroft’s own. He wriggled a bit to get more comfortable, faintly embarrassed to be so naked and exposed while the only clothing Mycroft has forgone is his shoes and jacket. The feeling does nothing to dampen his arousal, instead somehow heightening his sense of awareness.  
  
Bracketed between Mycroft’s legs, Greg rests his arms on their slender length, curling his fingers underneath the taller man’s knees. He can feel the shift of buttons from Mycroft’s waistcoat at his back, feel the press of the chain from his pocket watch as it warms from its contact with his skin. His legs are spread wide, his cock flushed and hard, fully on display to the man who is looking down his body from over Greg’s shoulder.  
  
In a daze of heated sensuality, Greg watched as those clever hands begin to explore him once more. They trickle in soft brushes through the grey splashed chest hair, following its narrowing path all the way past his navel and to the denser hair that his cock is nestled in. Greg is mildly aware that he is shivering out soft moans as those pale digits skirt around his cock. They moved past its rigid fullness to press the soft insides of his thighs, digging into the crease where they meets his abdomen to push into a tendon there that has him crying out and struggling to sit up.  
  
An arm brackets across his body, holding him firmly as the torment continues to send hot pulses to his ignored prick. The rolled fabric of Mycroft’s shirtsleeve rests in the hollow of Greg’s throat as Mycroft’s palm cups Greg’s cheek. Mycroft's thumb is pressed to turn Greg's face towards his so he can watch Greg's lips tremble and his eyes flutter as the older man squirms from the sensation of the hand playing the sensitive tendons at his groin.  
  
Mycroft speaks to him as he watches Greg’s face, his voice pitched low to draw the man in his arms deeper into his spell. “Do you know how beautiful you look with your lips quivering?” He pulls down Greg’s bottom lip with his thumb, licking lightly into his mouth even as he raked the fingers of his other hand over the soft skin of Greg’s middle. “How long do you think you could last,” Mycroft asked, his lips close enough to tease across Greg’s as he speaks, “if I tied you to the bed posts and touched everything but your cock?” Greg moans while nimble fingers are threaded through the grey flecked curls around his aching erection, tugging on them lightly as Greg’s dark eyes fly open to stare at his tormentor. “How long before you would beg for release? Minutes? Hours?”  
  
Greg makes a choked sound when the next tug on his pubic hair is rougher. The eyes watching him from so close are sharp, expecting, and he tries for an answer to the question he has been asked, “I-,” he starts, swallowing when fingers sink into those intimate curls bracketing the very root of his cock, threading though them to the skin beneath which is sensitive from the slight abuse of the tugging. He blinks against the sensation, fighting to right his train of thought as he tries again, answering honestly, “I don’t know.”  
  
“Hmm.” Mycroft hummed as his lids dropped to shutter his eyes further from Greg’s perusal. Greg gasps at the sharp smile that comes over the man’s face as his ignored cock is finally grasped. “Hours, I think.” Greg watches the other man’s face as his cock is stroked painfully slow, only enough to drive him deeper into desperation and not closer to release. “One day, we’ll find out.“ Greg shivered at the promise, turning his head to watch long fingers drag his foreskin back and forth over the swollen head of his cock, his copious amounts of pre-cum glinting in the low lighting of the room.  
  
Mycroft continued his maddening drawl of dark promises into Greg’s ear as he strokes him, “I’ll tie you to the bed with silk. Maybe tie up this, too,” he adds with a quick flick of his wrist up Greg’s length. He laughs when Greg makes a high keen at the sensation. “I’ll chose the finest available, strong enough to hold you as you struggle, silken enough not to injure your gorgeous skin. The shade of it will be burgundy, the color of the richest, deepest merlot, perfect to set off the silver in your hair, the warmth of you skin, and the mahogany of your eyes. I’ll tease you open until you beg, until you scream. I’ll push you right to the brink, over and over until you are crying my name as I fill you, until your throat is raw from the repetition. But I won’t let you come until you are _weeping_ , sobbing for mercy, your eyes red and filled with salty tears.”  
  
Greg can see it, can feel the hot shame that will come when those fat tears roll down his cheeks. And he wants it, fucking hell, he wants it so badly.  He feels the rush of knowing there are days to come, days to spend in leisure and in sweet torment, in companionship and in desperate carnality. And he will want the exquisite torment of denied completion, the torturous touch denying him until he is pared to the raw nerve of need.  
  
But tonight, he’s hard and aching, exhausted with his day and filled with the need for connection with the man who is playing him like a virtuoso. Tonight he won’t be able to wait for that relief; his day has been too exacting, his interaction with Mycroft too taxing to wait for the tender touches that come after the waves of climax have crested and crashed over him.  
  
Greg turns his head, butting gently into Mycroft’s neck, “Please,” he whispers into the pale skin, his kisses gentle and begging as he repeats his plea. “Please, My. I need you. Now, right now.”  
  
A deep tremor runs through Mycroft at Greg’s words, and before Greg can respond, hands are urging him to shift and turn. He scrambles to comply, his fingers moving to tug at Mycroft’s belt and trousers even as the other man is slicking up his own fingers with a bottle of lubricant. Greg is frantic, trying to fight with Mycroft’s buckle as well as sink onto his long and slippery fingers. For a moment, his frustration and desperate pulling and pushing accomplishes neither of his goals and the fire racing in his blood has him crying out in irritation. Fingers bracket his wrists, pulling them away from Mycroft’s groin and the younger man pulls him into a soft kiss.  
  
“Shh, Gregory,” Mycroft whispered across his lips, “Calm down. I’ll give you what you need. I’ll take care of you.” And then a finger breaches him, sliding fully in, causing Greg to arch his back in an attempt to gather more. A second is added after a few moments, the stretch sending a slight burn though the intimate muscle.  
  
As he adjusts to the second finger, Greg’s own trembling hands succeed in freeing Mycroft’s cock from his trousers. Greg moans low in his throat as he is allowed to trace its length, unlike last time when his hands were bound. He looks down into Mycroft’s face, his new position placing him over the other man, and he is immediately struck with how disheveled the man looks: his hair is askew, an apparent tendency to curl evident from where it has escaped its rigid style, his lips are open and his teeth are gritted. The sharp eyes are still there, though the ring of grey is thinner due to the dilation of his pupils.  
  
It strikes Greg in that moment that the man below him is taking just as much of a risk as Greg is himself. To let someone in, to try and connect with another person is a difficult thing, and Greg can see it; the thread of trust that will slowly grow, slowly strengthen with each interaction that takes place between them. As he looks down into those remarkably intelligent eyes, he feels a wave of tenderness and he leans to brush his lips across Mycroft’s.  
  
The soft kisses are at odds with the fingers that are stretching open his arse and his own rough grasping at the long, slim cock in his hands. Pulling back, he watches as his hands shift the foreskin over the head of Mycroft’s cock. He uses his other hand to slip down past the band of Mycroft’s pants, which Greg had pulled low. He rolls his lover's bollocks in his palm, panting at the weight of them, wondering how Mycroft would sound if Greg pulled them into his mouth and circled them with his tongue.  
  
He can see the tight curls of dark ginger hair that frame Mycroft’s length, and he lets his fingers drift through them, ruffling them up. He shuffles forward a bit until his own cock bumps into Mycroft’s, both men watching as a string of clear fluid bridges the plump heads when Greg shifts back onto pressing fingers.  
  
“ _Fuck_ ,” Mycroft cursed softly, sending a shiver down Greg’s spine. “Gregory, that is… _delicious_ ,” Mycroft growls out as he reaches to press their cocks together again for a brief moment, rumbling in pleasure when the action caused several strands to stretch between their lengths. Greg has always produced more pre-cum than any other man he had been with. A few of his lovers had found it off putting, while most - including his wife - had been indifferent. Even though he had no control over it, something in his chest grew hot as Mycroft praised him.  
  
When Mycroft added a third finger to Greg’s arse, twisting inside to press against his prostate, another rush of clear fluid bubbles up from Greg’s cock. He watches as Mycroft moves to swipe it up with his long index finger, slicking the fluid across Greg’s bottom lip before he leaned forward and followed his finger’s path with his tongue.  
  
Greg began to keen desperate noises as Mycroft wrapped a hand behind his head, thrusting his tongue into Greg’s mouth in the same rhythm as he thrust his fingers in his arse. Quickly reaching the end of his rope, Greg began begging against Mycroft’s lips, “Put it in, bloody hell…please!”  
  
The fingers leave his arse and move to splay across his buttocks. When Mycroft fumbled with the condom, Greg whined, and the man barely has time to roll it on before Greg is pushing down, taking him in one go and crying out as he is filled. He tries to rise immediately, but fingers dig into his hips, holding him still even as he growls in frustration.  
  
“A moment, my dear, unless you want this to be over before it’s begun,” Mycroft grates out, his polite words completely at odds with his rough tone. Greg’s muscles twitch with the desire to ride the perfect cock inside of him until he comes, but the grip on his hips warn him it wouldn’t be tolerated. He distracts himself by running his fingers into Mycroft’s hair, pushing it into total disarray as he kissed him like he was air and Greg was drowning.  
  
Mycroft, seeming assured that Greg wasn’t going to start moving, wrapped his arms around him and pulled him flush until they are chest to chest. He let Greg touch freely, fingers running though Mycroft's hair and down over his shoulders before skimming to run up his forearms. Greg tugged at Mycroft’s tie, loosening it enough that he can bite and kiss beneath the crisp collar of Mycroft’s dress shirt, groaning when fingers tug at his own hair. He roots farther past the collar, plucking the first button on the fine shirt loose and almost moaning in joy at the dark hair that greets his lips. He prays that one day he’ll get to see the man without his suit, get to feel the brush of their bodies without anything between them.  
  
But then Mycroft began to rock him back and forth and Greg can feel the fabric of his lover's folded open trousers slipping across his buttocks. He leans back with a gasp, gripping Mycroft's shoulder with one hand and reaching back to grip a thigh with another. He can feel it when Mycroft plants his feet flat, his hips rising to meet Greg's even as his fingers encourage the man astride him to rise and fall. Greg moves, the first wave of promised relief building as he is allowed to ride his lover. Greg peers down into Mycroft’s face, seeing he looks as wrecked as Greg feels, watching as he moans out, _‘Gregory’_ on a long sigh.  
  
Mycroft continued to keep the pace slow with a hand on Greg’s hip while his other snakes around to grasp Greg’s thick cock in a loose grip, teasing him gently as they move together. The room is filled with soft noises; Mycroft moaning low and Greg gasping and making broken little sounds each time fingers curl just so around the fat head of his weeping cock. Mycroft works him softly with his fingers, slowing his strokes and pushing Greg into shallow thrusts when they begin to edge near the brink.  
  
But neither of them had the stamina or desire to drag this out tonight, and when Greg begins to whimper and plead, Mycroft relents. Shifting his feet further up the bed, Mycroft changes the angle of his penetration even as he grips Greg’s cock more firmly. Greg’s whimpers change to full throated cries as the new angle allows more direct strokes to that place inside that causes heat to rush through his blood. Both his hands move back to grip Mycroft’s thighs for balance as he begins to meet his thrusts with the enthusiasm he had so far been denied.  
  
With Mycroft's molten, encouraging whispers of, “Yes, that’s it, come for me, Gregory,” and “Show me, show me everything,” and “Lovely, so lovely, just like that,” Greg was done for. The hot rushes of adulation touched something deep and cold inside of Greg, just like they had that first night.  
  
But now, unlike that first time, he could see the adoration in Mycroft’s eyes, he could feel the weight of the truth in his words as everything in him coalesced to the touch of Mycroft fingers and the thrust of his cock and the praise he poured out that Greg had never realize he was so damned thirsty for. And as he came, screaming Mycroft’s name and soiling the man’s shirt and waistcoat and fingers, feeling Mycroft tumble right after, hot praise still falling from his lips, an ember in his chest begins to glow. It begins burning as soft and as careful as Mycroft’s arms are when he falls boneless into them, shivering in the aftermath of his orgasm.  
  
The glow was fed with gentle caresses up and down his back, soft kisses raining over his hair and then his face as he turns his head upwards. He whimpers when Mycroft shifts him gently, pulling out of him and tying and disposing of the used condom. After only a moment, the gentle fingers returned to pet him and nudge him back into the plush bedding as Mycroft turned it down before doing something that turned down all the lights as well. Greg lie in a pleasant fog, moaning in approval when a warm cloth is pressed to his face before Mycroft moved it, following the curves of Greg’s body to wipe away sweat before gently cleansing his now resting cock with tender care.  
  
Greg dozed, awakening when Mycroft exited the en suite in a set of soft blue pajamas, light spilling from the door to frame his lean silhouette before he flicked off the light and closed the door. Greg watched with barely open eyes as Mycroft moved to the bed, standing at the edge as if he was deciding if he should get in or not.  
  
Greg chuckled and flicked back the covers, snuggling into the other man as soon as he had settled into the bed.  
  
“You’re not going to leave me a note in the morning telling me you had a nice time again are you?” Greg rumbled out.  
  
“I may,” Mycroft said, though Greg could hear the smile in his voice.  
  
“All right, but it had better have your number in it or something. I won’t take a boot on my arse so kindly a second time.”  
  
Mycroft chuckled and Greg smiled from his place nestled into the taller man’s side, the smile still on his lips when he drifted back to sleep.  
  
It couldn’t have been four hours later when Greg felt a soft touch through his hair. He cracked his eyes open, disoriented for a moment when he saw Mycroft cast in soft light that revealed him fully dressed in yet another perfect three piece suit.  
  
“What? Is it morning?” Greg asked, his voice rough with sleep even to his own ears.  
  
“Not for you,“ Mycroft answered with a smile, “But for me, I am afraid so.”  
  
“What time is it?” Greg asked, moving to sit up. A gentle hand pressed him back into the bed.  
  
“You still have time to sleep for several hours.” Mycroft looked down at him and then away, Greg wondering at the odd expression on his face in the soft glow of the room. “I didn’t want to disturb your rest, but I also was loathe to let you awake alone for fear that you would misconstrue my absence.”  
  
“You have to go to work now?” Greg guessed.  
  
“Unfortunately, yes. I have been called away to…intermediate. I am uncertain how long I will be gone.” Here he fixed Greg with that odd look again. “Would you be averse to communicating during the time I am away? It may be sporadic, possibly very late at night or early in the morning, and if you would rather not bother-”  
  
Greg broke in, quietly amused that a man like Mycroft could struggle just like mere mortals could. “I would very much like to bother. Call me when you can, text me when you can, and I’ll answer when I can.”  
  
Mycroft looked at him for a moment more, and then he nodded. When Greg reached for him, he stiffened in surprise, but Greg smiled and continued to tug him down to plant a soft chaste kiss on his lips. Mycroft slowly straightened from the kiss, his expression so blank that Greg laughs out loud as he plops back into the pillows.  
  
“Yes. Well.” Mycroft says haltingly, and Greg feels that hot little ember in his heart inch a little closer to a burning flame.  
  
“Be safe, Mycroft,” Greg says, smiling softly as the other man adjusts his already perfect tie and waistcoat. “I’ll be waiting for you when you get back.”  
  
Mycroft offers a final nod, reaching to pull the covers back up around Greg before he turns out the softly glowing lamp and exits the room.  
  
Greg’s phone wakes him up at a less ungodly hour, and he rises from the bed to get ready for his day. He steps into the en suite, his chosen items set out alongside his lover’s at the sink and in the shower and he smiles. He enjoys the luxurious spray of hot water for longer than is strictly necessary.  
  
When he steps out of the en suite, his suit from the previous night is once again waiting for him, freshly cleaned and pressed and this time, Greg doesn’t get angry at the new shirt and tie that are there with his suit. The contents of his pockets have been laid out on the table near the chair and he picks them up, rolling the black button in his fingers before he pockets it along with his keys. Fully dressed, he reaches for his shoes only to find a familiar looking envelope sitting atop them with his name scrawled across it in that same flowing script. The paper is bulging slightly and Greg grins as he tears it open, pulling out another black button to go along with his other and a new note.  
  
_Dearest Gregory,_  
  
_I am sorry that I have been called away so soon. I believe the nature of your own profession allows you to accept where another might balk. To be honest, I would much rather have stayed by your side for at least a while longer as we begin upon this path._  
  
_This is as strange thing for me as I assume it is for yourself. The affection towards another is something I have long touted as a disadvantage. I know I am not as other are, my nature being something that does not inspire devotion or affection. I do not mean to presume you are offering either, though I do hope for a measure of one._  
  
_And now I am rambling. How do you inspire such things in me, my dear? With each moment spent in your presence I find new things about myself as well as you._  
  
_Truly, all I mean to say by all of this is simple: Thank you, Gregory. I shall look forward to when next we meet with more longing than you can guess._  
  
_Yours,_  
_Mycroft Holmes_  
  
Greg folds the note and nestles it gently in his wallet along with the last as he slips the second button into his pocket along with the first. He smiles, wondering how long it will take him to collect all sixteen of them.  
  
He’s in his office an hour later when Sergeant Donovan comments on his new shirt and tie again with that same sly look in her eyes. Greg just smiles as he sips his coffee, he runs his fingers over the pair of black button in his pocket and says, “Thanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Though this is now marked as complete, it is very possible I will add other chapters as the mood strikes me. More than likely they will be vignettes and not necessary to drive the plot, hence the 'complete' status. Please feel free to leave comments, they often are the bright spot in my day!


	4. Button: The Third

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft has been away for over a week. He and Greg have only been able to text mostly, but Mycroft calls him when he finally has a few minutes to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I keep changing the status from complete to incomplete and I apologize. But not really. Here's some more Mystrade smut. The chapter is shorter than the others, but I hope you still enjoy.

Brollies and Buttons

Chapter Four

Button: The Third

* * *

 

Mycroft had been gone for over a week now, and Greg had found out very quickly that his lover certainly hadn’t been joking about the sporadic nature of the text and calls he would be able to make. So far, their main method of communication was texting, as Mycroft had explained - in text - that he was rarely in privacy that would allow a discreet phone conversation. Which is why, when Greg’s phone actually rang with Mycroft’s newly set ring tone at a handful of minutes past three in the morning, Greg scrabbled for it without a single bit of the dread that usually came when his phone rang with his work’s ring tone at the same time of morning.  
  
His voice was sleep rough as he answered the phone. “My?”  
  
“Gregory, I am sorry to wake you.”  
  
“Don’t be. It’s good to hear you voice.” And it was, Even though Greg can tell it’s full of exhaustion.  
  
“As it is yours. I’m afraid I only have a few moments of free time, and since you told me you missed being able to talk with me, I thought I would take advantage of this rare moment of privacy.”  
  
And suddenly, Greg felt a bit of guilt. He has no idea what exactly Mycroft’s position - something to do with traffic officially, but something astronomically more than that in reality - entailed. For all he knew, there was a nuclear emergency taking place and he was whining because the man whose job it was to smooth things over didn’t have time to call him.  
  
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to complain. I know you’re busy.”  
  
“That may be true,” and here Mycroft paused, something Greg was coming to realize the man did when he was feeling off footed or unsure in a situation. After a heartbeat, he continued with, “However, you seem to be under the impression that your desire to hear my voice is not reflected by myself.”  
  
Greg grinned, snuggling down into his bed.  
  
“Missing me are you?”  
  
“I would have thought I made that clear.”  
  
Greg could practically hear the raised eyebrow. He chuckled, painting a picture in his mind, since that was the best he was going to get until his lover came home.  
  
“Yeah, I miss you, too. So, other than the things you’d have to kill me for if you told me about them, how has your day been?”  
  
“Tedious. Just because certain things seem to be well matched on paper, it does not mean that they would work in a practical sense. You would not believe how hard it is to communicate this to certain individuals who refuse to see reason. It’s as if I am being asked to arrange the marriage of two completely different species. All my logic is falling on belligerently deaf ears.”  
  
“Like a marriage between a race horse and a greyhound?”  
  
“Pardon?”  
  
“Well, assuming someone had no idea what either of them looked like, it would look like a match straight from heaven: they’ve both got heads, four legs, and a tails, and all of its in pretty similar places. And more importantly, both are spectacular at running. On paper, someone might say they’d be great to crossbreed. As soon as someone saw them together, the problems with that would be obvious.”  
  
“…”  
  
What in hell was he saying? Rambling on about breeding dogs and horses to a man who got called away to manage the world’s crises. The silence only confirmed his stupidity. Hopefully Mycroft hadn’t hung up on him in abject horror at discovering more of their staggering differences in intellect.  
  
“My? Are you still there?“  
  
“Yes.“  
  
“Sorry, that probably sounded pretty stupid. Blame it on the hour.”    
  
_Please_.  
  
“Actually, you’ve made perfect sense. Thank you, Gregory.”  
  
Really?  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Absolutely. I believe I see a new option to show them their error in much the manner you have described.”  
  
“Thank god,“ Greg chuckled in relief. “I was worried I might have made you realize how stupid I really am.”  
  
“Please refrain from calling yourself that in my presence. Or earshot, as it is in our current  case.”  
  
“I’ll try.”  
  
“See that you do.”  
  
“How much longer until you have to go back?”  
  
“A little over five minutes. Would you like to talk about your day? Perhaps I can offer you some helpful insight as you have done for mine.”  
  
“Maybe some other time.” It was Greg’s turn to pause now, unsure if he should continue on with the idea that had crossed his mind a few times over the last week. “Would you…Are you…?” he started, suddenly unsure how to broach the subject.  
  
“Would I, or am I, what?”  
  
“Never mind. It’s stupid.”  
  
“Gregory, I do believe we have just spoken about the use of that word in relation to yourself. If there is something you wish to know, please ask. I do have the ability to choose whether or not to answer if it is something that I am unable to do so in good conscience.”  
  
“I didn’t say _I_ was stupid.”  
  
“You are dissembling. Stop now.”  
  
Greg took a deep breath and said in a rush, “I was just wondering if you’d like to have phone sex?”  
  
“…”  
  
“My?”  
  
“I have never engaged in that particular activity.”  
  
“Oh. Well, it’s no big deal. Just hearing your voice is nice.”  
  
Really nice. Nice enough that other parts of Greg’s body have woken up to take notice of the proceedings. Though they may have been encouraged with some rather naughty thoughts Greg had been entertaining as of late. It’s a little embarrassing really, being turned down, but it wasn’t as if he were still some randy teenager with no control over his libido. He could have a normal phone conversation. And when Mycroft got off the phone with him, he could get off on his own.  
  
“I did not say I did not want to do so.”  
  
Oh.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“I’m afraid my current position is not such that I can participate... _fully._ I would however, be happy to offer whatever assistance you require.”  
  
Well that sounded wonderful to Greg, but he did have one concern.  
  
“We’ve only got five minutes?”  
  
“Perhaps less now. I suggest you take your lovely cock in hand and get started.” The mentioned organ gave an enthusiastic twitch at the shift in the tone of Mycroft’s voice. Greg kicked the covers down, whipping his pants off fast enough to break the sound barrier.  A hot flush ran over him as he scrambled to take Mycroft‘s suggestion firmly in his grip as Mycroft continued in that same luscious tone, “I’d wager you are already hard aren’t you, you lascivious creature.”  
  
“Yeah,” Greg breathed out as he ran his fingers up his prick, which was quickly becoming very interested in the present situation.  
  
“I wouldn’t wonder if you don’t even need five minutes to reach orgasm.” Greg was pretty sure Mycroft was right. “I bet you’ve been fantasizing about this for days, haven’t you? How many times have you tried to ease your lust since I have been absent, Gregory?”  
  
A blush graced his cheeks as he answered, “A few.” He was already breathing heavily, and Mycroft chuckled darkly into the phone at the sound.  
  
“You’re wet, aren’t you? That thick cock of yours is weeping because it misses me, misses my touch.”  
  
“Fuck,“ Greg huffed out, biting at his lips because his cock was indeed leaking enough already that he could spread the clear fluid around to ease the path of his hand. He moaned into the phone, wishing he could feel more delicate, more graceful fingers on him.  
  
“I wonder what kind of sounds you’ll make when I lick it all away.” Greg’s eyes flew open as he sucked in a breath. This was something that Mycroft hadn’t done yet and the thought of it ratcheted his arousal up quite a few notches. “I think when I see you next I will remedy my lack of information on the way you taste, the way you sound when I roll my tongue across your cock. I think I’ll sit you in the chair in my bedroom, get you nice and comfortable before I tease you for a while. Do you think you will be able to behave yourself, or should I tie your hands?”  
  
Greg moaned in answer, his mind too full of Mycroft on his knees, his head bobbing slowly, for him to form a reply in words.  
  
“Perhaps I won’t tie you up if you prove you can resist touching me. Could you do that, my dear? Keep your hands on the arms of the chair as I suck you down my throat? As I lick every inch of your delectable cock?”  
  
Greg didn’t try to hold back his moans as his hand began to pump his cock in brutal strokes. The thought of his lover sucking his cock while his own hands were forbidden from running through that lovely hair, from grasping at strong shoulders, from threading his fingers in dark ginger strands while he was consumed…The images were going to be playing in his mind until Mycroft got home and made them a reality.  
  
“It sounds as if you like that idea. Perhaps we can make it a wager: If you can keep your hands off me until you are filling my mouth with your seed, I’ll let you touch me as much as you want afterwards.”  
  
“No-” Greg broke off with a harsh grit of his teeth as he imagined what he thought Mycroft was offering, “No suit? You’ll let me see you?” The thought of being able to feel Mycroft’s body pressed to his started that spread of familiar heat through Greg’s belly.  
  
“Only if you can endure everything I plan to do without touching me.” With a dark voice, Mycroft added, “I certainly don’t plan to make it easy for you, Gregory.”  
  
The heat in his groin was climbing, but Greg slowed his hand a fraction, hoping they weren’t quite nearing the five minute mark just yet. “And,” he panted out, “and if I can’t?”  
  
“Then I’ll tie up your hands and suck you off. After that, I’ll make you ride me in the chair until your spent cock recovers and soils yet another of my waistcoats.” A win-win situation as far as Greg was concerned. He keened as the pleasure that was cresting from the combination of his fingers and Mycroft’s filthy wager. “I know that sound, Gregory. Go ahead, take your pleasure from my voice until I am home to grant it with my finger, lips, and tongue. Let me hear you if I am unable to see you. Come for me.”  
  
“Mycroft!“ Greg cried out as he found release across his fingers, belly, and chest while Mycroft’s words rang in his ears.  
  
After the immediate heat of his orgasm passed, Greg whispered out “I miss you, My. I miss you so much.”  
  
“Gregory…” Mycroft answered, his heated tone tempered with a trace of longing. “I miss you also. More than I ever expected. Even though I can’t touch you, I wish I could see you, see that you somehow still desire me even though I will often be called away like this. I-,” Mycroft stopped abruptly as a sharp knock interrupted him. His voice changed in an instant, as he spoke a sharp “You may enter.”  
  
Greg couldn’t hear the other person other than a short muted exchange, probably Mycroft had covered the phone with his hand. A few seconds later, Mycroft spoke into the phone again, his voice apologetic.  
  
“I must go, my dear.”  
  
Greg tried not to sound depressed when he asked, “When do you think you’ll be home?”  
  
“Honestly, I’m unsure. I hope no longer than another week.”  
  
“Alright, think we might be able to have another…conversation like we just had?”  
  
Greg smiled at Mycroft’s chuckle.  
  
“I shall endeavor to make it happen.”  
  
“Good. I’ll look forward to it.”  
  
“Good night, Gregory.”  
  
“Night, My. Or whatever time it is there. I’ll see you soon I hope.”  
  
“That is something we share,” Mycroft said. And then the line went silent.  
  
Greg looked down at his softening cock and the mess it had left behind. In a moment of inspiration, he clicked on his bedside lamp with his clean hand before he angled his phone to take a picture. The image was a bit grainy since his phone was old, but it would leave no doubt in his lover’s mind about how much he had enjoyed their chat. His fingers typed out a text before he attached the image.  
  
_This will have to do since my phone won’t take video. Use it however you like. - GL_  
  
He was smiling as he used his discarded pants to wipe up his mess before he turned over and went back to sleep, wishing he could see the look on Mycroft’s face when he saw Greg’s gift.  
  
When he woke up the next morning, there was still no answer to his text. He shrugged, knowing he would receive one when Mycroft was able, and went about preparing for his day. When he checked his post on the way to work, there was a familiar envelope with a familiar bulge waiting for him.  
  
Greg laughed in disbelief, afraid to wonder at the resources that must have been used to have it delivered to him in such a short amount of time.  
  
The note inside was very brief.  
  
_I plan to._  
  
Greg grinned madly as he collected his third button. He stepped back into his flat for a moment to place it in the bowl beside his bed which held the second button he had been gifted. The first was safely in its home in Greg's pocket.  
  
Later that day, a package was delivered to Greg’s office.  
  
It was a brand new phone, and it could take video.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions and comments are always appreciated! Thank you for reading!


	5. Button: The Fourth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gregory makes use of the new phone Mycroft gave him. It's not quite what Mycroft expected, though...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is from Mycroft's perspective. It also has some more hot sex! Huzzah!

Brollies and Buttons

Chapter Five

Button: The Fourth

* * *

 

It was nothing out of the ordinary for Mycroft to be called away on extremely short notice. He had long ago grown accustomed to stepping into the private jet reserved specifically for his use on one side of the world and stepping off of it onto another. For this very reason there were protocols in place for when he immediate presence was needed elsewhere.  
  
However, the new development of his interactions with a certain Detective Inspector had him making some hasty arrangements so said Inspector would have some extra protection. He had to be subtle of course, had to exert some amount of control when he would really like the man to be watched every minute of every day in case of any possible danger.  
  
Instead, Mycroft settled for less invasive tactics. A few eyes to track his daily movements, only to pick up on anything that was outside of his normal routine, to make sure he wasn’t injured or harassed. There were also instructions on where he was to be treated in case of any type of accident or work related injury. If anything occurred, Mycroft was to be informed immediately. So far, the only thing that had been out of the ordinary was an unscheduled visit to what was Greg’s normal physician.  
  
Mycroft had smiled when it had turned out to be for a blood test. If Greg was getting tested, he no doubt was ready to embark on a long term exclusive relationship with Mycroft. He made sure a copy of his own clean bill of health was at the ready for when he returned home.  
  
Admittedly, Mycroft did not know that much about relationships from a personal standpoint, but he knew enough to realize that being absent when one had barely gotten underway would put the new connection under undue strain. Being so far away from Greg sat heavy in Mycroft’s chest, a strange and alien feeling.  
  
His instinct was to hover, not to interfere, but to observe. Of course he could put the man under constant surveillance, but Greg would likely see that as insulting and possibly as…creepy.  
  
This fresh to each other, they were still navigating the different sides of their own natures and how much or how little of those to reveal. He had to be careful not to overwhelm his Gregory. It would be best to ease the older man into Mycroft’s own rather overprotective tendencies. Besides, Greg was unexpectedly observant, and Mycroft was fairly certain the other man would notice if he suddenly gave in to the itch to have his surveillance raised to the level he wanted. It was one thing for Greg to suspect the nature of Mycroft’s work, it was another to confront him with in full force.  
  
And so, Mycroft used his own control to control himself. Moderation is a tool of it’s own.  
  
Along with the frankly teeth-gnashing modest amount of security he had placed on Greg, Mycroft had gifted him with a new phone. A new phone with GPS capability that could be activated - only if absolutely necessary, of course - along with some other, more frivolous, but no less important, capabilities.  
  
Mycroft hadn’t know what to expect when he had gifted Greg with his new phone. There had been a 13% chance that Gregory would refuse the gift due to a streak of pride that resented the implication of being a kept man. Truthfully, Mycroft would love to shower his Gregory in expensive luxury items, but he was fairly certain that would not be appreciated by his…lover.  
  
_Lover_. The word was still foreign to his mind, an order of letters that rolled far too easily off the tongue to truly encompassed what the word signified to Mycroft, who had never expected to find such meaning in those letters in his lifetime.

Of course, he had had Greg thoroughly vetted, but unlike his normal routine, he had refrained from reading the file. He would rather learn about Greg on his own, using his own methods and interactions with the man.  
  
Those would likely continue to prove infinitely more enjoyable than reading them in a file anyway.  
  
Still, due to his responsibilities, Mycroft could not just embark upon a relationship without the proper precautions being taken. He had left them to his trusted Assistant, knowing Anthea would alert him to any areas of concern.  
  
As expected, there had been none.  
  
But just as Mycroft had to hide his desires to guard Greg, there were things that even the most well put together file missed. And even an _extremely_ in depth file could not tell you everything about the person on whom the information had been gathered. After all, if every decision could be made from merely flipping through information, Mycroft Holmes would not be needed.  
  
For example, he was sure if he ever _was_ tempted to read Gregory’s file, nowhere inside the many pages would he find the words, ‘Gregory Lestrade: Insufferable Tease.’  
  
And yet, Mycroft was coming to realize the man was just that.  
  
Greg had been in possession of his new phone for three days now, and for three days he had been sending videos. And Mycroft was enjoying them, there was no doubt about that, but they were not the manner of video he had expected.  
  
Still, since he currently had a few moments to himself so he pulled up his growing collection, selecting the first one and hitting play.  
  
_A smiling Greg in his office. He is waving, the scene wobbling a little from the action. “Mycroft! Thanks for the phone! It took me a few minutes to figure out all the buttons. Are they called buttons when the screen is one of those touchy things? Oh well. Don’t worry, I know how to take video now. I’ll send you more later. I’ve got to go, the job calls and all that. Hope I’ll see you soon, and thanks again!”_  
  
He selected the second one that had followed several hours after the first.  
  
_Greg is eating a sandwich, smiling with his mouth full, his cheeks puffed out from the large bite. He offers a small wriggle of his fingers as a wave. “Hope you had a good lunch today! I’m actually getting to take one on time for a change. I’m sure you know what I mean. Most of the time I’m living off of what passes around here as coffee. Talk to you later!”_  
  
The third.  
  
_Greg is sitting in his flat, his words are very faintly slurred as he speaks. He holds up a glass with half the contents gone, condensation dripping down the sides. “Nothing like a good beer after work.” He emphasizes his point with a long draw.  “Do you drink beer? I’ve only ever seen you drink wine and whatever that was that first night we met.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively, as he gives a lopsided grin. “That sure was delicious. The drink was pretty good, too.”_  
  
The forth, fifth, and sixth had all followed the same vein. Perfectly innocent videos that were glimpses into his Gregory’s daily routine. Mycroft had enjoyed them all very much, smiling his own soft smile at his rather silly Gregory’s antics. They were unexpectedly light hearted. They lifted his spirits and gave him more evidence that the two of them could very possibly make their terribly unique dynamic work.  
  
It also made him miss Gregory even more acutely. Mycroft had been texting as much as possible since things had moved rather quickly after he had implemented Gregory’s insightful plan of show, not tell. Still as much as possible was not really much at all. He sighed as he scrolled to his favorite video so far.  
  
The seventh, and most recent, was almost twenty four hours old now. Mycroft had been quite interested the first time he had watched due to the opening of the file revealing a reclining Gregory in bed.  
  
_Greg is peering sleepy eyed into the camera, his stubble making a soft, rough sound as it scratches across his pillowcase. “Mornin’, My. Just got called in on what’s probably gonna be a bad one. I’ll try to text you, but I doubt I’ll have time to talk today, so if you call and I don’t answer, don’t get worried.” His eyes turn soft. “I miss you.”_  
  
Mycroft replays it until a knock on his door alerts him his short break is over.  
  
It’s another twelve hours before he receives another video. He waits until he has a few minutes to enjoy his day’s first greeting from his lover as he takes his tea. He settles down with his own personal blend and cup - the tea set and  blend are his own personal ones that go with him wherever he is required.  
  
The delicate porcelain perched carefully in his fingers is almost lost as a casualty when the blistering image of his new video pops onto the screen of his phone.  
  
_Greg is lying on his bed, his body angled so that one leg is draped over the side while the other is bent at the knee, his foot resting flat on the mattress. The fingers of his left hand are tugging at a nipple while the fingers of his right are circled around his cock, sliding up and down slowly. The lighting in the room is low, giving the video and even more intimate atmosphere. “Mycroft…My.” Fingers are moving up and down Greg‘s length as light glints off the rivulets of clear fluid that are dripping from the head of his cock. “God, My. I want your hands on me…I want you inside me again…I want your cock so bad. My…”_  
  
Mycroft nearly screams when the screen goes dark. His eyes are wide and his fingers shaking as he tries to see why the rest of the video has ceased playing.  
  
It’s because that was the entire video.  
  
A few hours later he receives another. It’s of Greg eating a donut in the park. Mycroft doesn’t have privacy for a phone call, but he does have a moment to spare for texting.  
  
Texting. He never thought he would be engaging in such a vulgar way of communication. And enjoying it.  
  
_Gregory, you **vixen**. -MH_  
  
_Don’t like the park? -GL_  
  
_There are other, much more stimulating sights I would prefer to see. -MH_  
  
_Yeah. The beach is nice this time of year. -GL_  
  
_Perish the thought. -MH_  
  
_You don’t like the beach? What’s the matter with you? -GL_  
  
_Not all of us are blessed with your swarthy complexion. -MH_  
  
_Sunburn? Don’t worry. If we ever go, I’ll be sure to rub you all over. I’ll help you put on sunscreen, too. -GL_  
  
_And so I reiterate. Vixen. -MH_  
  
_How about the mountains? Won’t get sunburned with all that ski gear on. Or lying naked in front of a big fire. -GL_  
  
_I must go. -MH_  
  
_Vixen. -MH_  
  
_:( -GL_  
  
Mycroft had barely sat down at the conference table when a new video arrived. He wasn’t able to watch it for several more hours. When they finally conclude their business, most everyone is ready to throw themselves into their beds. Mycroft has another objective he must approach first. He locks the door to his room and sits on his bed before he accesses his phones new message.  
  
_Greg has two feet on the bed now and two hands are wrapped firmly around his cock. He is thrusting into them, the muscles of his stomach and legs shifting with the action. Wet sounds accompany his low moans, filling the speaker with evidence of Greg’s ardor. “Fuck, My. When I think about your fingers…” One hand leaves his cock, making a slow show of gathering a bead of fluid that it is so copiously producing with a soft drag of his thumb over the plump head of his cock. Greg’s half lidded eyes peer into the camera as he licks the digit clean with a moan._  
  
The screen goes black, announcing the end of another all too short performance. It will be very early morning in London, but Mycroft must speak with his tormentor. He calls the man responsible for the current tightness of his trousers.  
  
“Lestrade here.”  
  
His Gregory’s voice is professional when he answers the phone, but Mycroft can hear just a hint of smug satisfaction. He can also hear other sounds that indicate why Greg is using his Inspector voice and not his bedroom voice.  
  
“Gregory. You are wicked,” Mycroft growls.  
  
“Yeah. That could be true.” Definitely smug.  
  
“A horrible tease.”  
  
“Sure.” The vixen dares to laugh. Albeit quietly. It wouldn’t do to show too much humor at a crime scene.  
  
“You’ve left me with a… _problem_ to manage.”  
  
“You should get on that then.” Gregory’s voice is less smug this time, a little more strained, a little more breathless.  
  
“I’d much rather you did that yourself.”  
  
“God.” The gulp was loud in Mycroft’s ear. “I’d love to help, but I’m a bit busy at the moment.”  
  
“Perhaps,” Mycroft suggested, “you could send me the rest of that infernal video.”  
  
“Sorry. That is private information, can’t be giving it out right now.” Gregory’s voice was rough now.  
  
“Gregory,” Mycroft purred, using the voice he knew turned his lover to putty in his hands, “Send me the rest of the video or, I swear, the next time I see you, you will suffer greatly for the frustrations you have inflicted upon me.”  
  
“Sorry,” Gregory’s voice cracked. “Sorry, but I can’t do that. I’ll have to take my chances. I need to get back to work. I’ll talk to you later.”  
  
Mycroft stared at the phone after the line went dead. Apparently his threat had had the opposite effect than he was going for. He smiled his own dangerous smile, knowing that his lover wasn‘t the only one able to withhold information. Mycroft would be flying out shortly, and with a little help from Anthea, he was sure he could catch his Detective Inspector completely unawares.  
  
*****  
  
Gregory had certainly been shocked when Mycroft knocked on his door around midnight. The absolute delight on his face had given Mycroft a shock of his own as he was pulled into the flat and kissed soundly. Hands roamed all over his back as he and his freshly showered Gregory kissed. Fingers had tugged his umbrella from his hand, depositing it safely by the door without them ever breaking contact before they moved from the front door, maneuvering past furniture and other obstacles on the way to Greg’s bedroom.  
  
Mycroft helped as they made their way, keeping an eye as his lover walked backwards, the shorter man simultaneously trying to pull Mycroft along even as he is pushing into him. Their obvious desires for each other are bumping and rubbing as they shuffle along. It takes longer than it should to reach the bedroom, but the trip _is_ quite enjoyable.  
  
Long fingers slip underneath Greg’s worn t-shirt, slipping it over his head and dropping it to the floor. Mycroft crushes the solid body against him, wrapping his arms around Greg as he kisses him with enough force to bend him backwards. Without warning, he lets go, dropping Greg to the bed before tugging his pajama bottoms and pants off in one swift movement. The now naked man lies back, his knees draped over the edge of the mattress. A foot skirts up the side of Mycroft’s trouser leg, rubbing lightly before it hooks behind him, urging him to move forward. Mycroft complies, placing his own knees on either side of Greg’s hips. He looks into warm, dark eyes and watches as a tongue darts out to wet full lips. Teeth catch on the bottom lip, chewing nervously, causing Mycroft to pause. Mahogany eyes peer at him, heavy lidded and promising.  
  
“I got tested.”  
  
The voice is merely more than a whisper, but even in the lack of volume, Mycroft can hear the slight uncertainty. As if Mycroft would ever turn down the intimacy his Gregory was offering him.  
  
Mycroft leans down, capturing Greg’s bottom lip between his own, soothing the place where his lover‘s teeth had been seconds ago with his tongue. He whispers against those lovely lips, “I have regular, and very through, physicals performed on a regular basis due to my position. I am also clean.” In answer, Greg’s eyes droop even further, his mouth parting on a soft sigh.  
  
Mycroft rakes his eyes over his naked Gregory, taking in his solid form, the curves of his ribcage, his kissable stomach, the muscular arms, chest, and thighs. And the look of absolute need in his eyes. Mycroft moves back to stand at the edge of the bed before he slips off his jacket and shoes, carefully placing them aside. His cufflinks are dropped on the bedside table.  
  
Greg is barely moving, caught up in the trance of watching his gorgeous lover remove the few items of clothing. His chest rises and falls in a shallow rhythm as Mycroft turns to him and rolls up his shirtsleeves while dark eyes follow his every move. With each inch of skin exposed, Greg want to see more.  
  
“Your suit, take it off?”  
  
Mycroft looks at him, a sly smile as on his lips as he echoes Greg’s words from their earlier phone conversation.  
  
“Sorry,” Mycroft says, the smile widening, “but I can’t do that.”  
  
The only answer Greg can give is widening pupils and an open mouthed moan.  
  
Mycroft moves to his other shirtsleeve, rolling it with deliberate movements as he speaks. “I seem to remember a wager, my dear. I believe we had discussed the chair in my own bedroom, but I am nothing if not adaptable.”  
  
With that, he hooked his hands beneath Greg’s knees and tugged him sharply down the bed before loosening his own tie and sinking to kneel on the floor between Greg‘s legs.  
  
“Mycroft!” Greg gasped out, his eyes wide as he looked down his body to where hands were running up the lengths of his thighs to rest over his hipbones.  
  
“Still feel up to the challenge, my dear Gregory?”  
  
Mycroft kept his eyes on Greg’s as he licked a long delicate swipe up the side of his cock.  
  
“Yeah…I-I think so…”  
  
Mycroft placed his lips on the underneath of the shaft as he spoke, sliding them gently up and down Greg‘s length to tease him.  
  
“I suggest you reach above you and grab the edge of the mattress.” Greg’s cock twitched beneath the caress of his lips.  “I already warned you I wouldn’t make this easy, and you certainly didn’t ensure any goodwill with your recent actions.”  
  
Greg gave a desperate, short laugh as he did exactly what Mycroft was suggesting. He anchored his fingers over the edge of the mattress, breathing out, “Thank god,” in response to Mycroft’s words.  
  
An arched eyebrow and Mycroft saying, “Vixen,” was all the warning Greg got before Mycroft took him into his mouth. The silken heat of Mycroft mouth was decadent. Greg cried out and his hips jerked upwards involuntarily. It had been a long time since this particular activity had been performed on him, and it had been years since it had been done without the use of protection. He could only watch and grip the mattress for dear life as Mycroft set about taking him apart with his mouth.  
  
Mycroft pulled off Greg’s cock, rolling his tongue around the head as he gathered the salty fluid there. He ghosted his lips down the side, moaning as he delicately pulled at the foreskin. He moved one of his hands to the shaft, coaxing the sensitive skin up until the dark pink head was peeking from it like a very erotic flower. When he slid the tip of his tongue beneath the silken skin, circling the plump glans delicately, Greg’s body went rigid. Mycroft chuckled as he continued the action, lapping up the salty drops that continued to pearl up from the tiny slit in the glans.  
  
He moved his hand up and down, shifting the skin back and forth as he continued to tease at the slit, eliciting soft gasps and cries of his name from his lover’s lips. All the while he watched him, watched how Greg’s was body rolling and shuddering with the sensations that Mycroft were causing. It was a heady thing to watch his Gregory’s body tremble and writhe with every pull of his mouth.  
  
When he removed his hand and pressed into the sensitive joint of Greg’s hip, one of his lover’s hands shot down to grip at the sheets as he arched up, looking down his body to where Mycroft was sucking him.  
  
“My!” Greg, cried as Mycroft mirrored his previous move with his other hand. He pressed his thumbs in, pulsing them along in time with the pull of his mouth. Greg gave out a high whine, his body coiling in readiness for release. Mycroft waited until it was seconds away before he stopped all movement, pulling his mouth away when Greg tried to thrust into it. The sight of his Gregory thrusting vainly into the air was burned into his memory. He waited until his lover settled back into the sheets before he placed a soft kiss on the tip of his cock.  
  
“So quickly, Gregory?” Mycroft chuckled, kissing softly down the side of Greg’s twitching cock. “I would have thought you would have more endurance, especially since you saw fit to tease me with evidence of you pleasuring yourself.”  
  
Without warning he pulled Greg’s cock fully into his mouth, swallowing to caress the glans with his throat even as he rolled his tongue on the underside. He only did this for a few moments, sensing the denied orgasm rushing back to the fore. When Mycroft  pulled off with a hard pop, Greg’s other hand gripped the sheets.  
  
It appeared Mycroft would be winning his wager very soon.  
  
He circled his lips around that deliciously plump head, sucking gently as he slid wet fingers up and down the length, slowly pulling Greg back towards his receding climax. Every time he was on the cusp, Mycroft would stop. “Perhaps you should have sent me the rest of your little video,” Mycroft said as he paused from his teasing.  After the third time of this treatment, Greg’s entire body was vibrating with unfulfilled need. “Only granting me little snippets of your depraved performance was unwise, my dear. Should you like to apologize now, or shall I continue with your punishment?”  
  
“I can’t, I can’t,” Greg was grating out.  
  
Mycroft slid Greg’s entire length into his mouth in tiny increments, listening to the symphony of his Gregory’s cries even as he watched his fingers twist in the sheets. Just a little farther and those fingers would be grabbing at him, tangling in his hair to allow Greg to thrust into his mouth with abandon. He pulled off again flicking his tongue rapidly over the head of Greg’s weeping cock, not enough to grant release, but enough to have his lover harshly crying out.  
  
“You shouldn’t have denied me. Now you must suffer the consequences,” Mycroft smiled into Greg’s eyes, taking in the sheen of sweat and the quivering lips like the finest wine.  
  
“I didn’t…deny you…I didn’t.” Greg was panting out through clenched teeth.  
  
Mycroft raised his eyebrows, affecting nonchalance even as he knew his own pleasure was being thoroughly denied in his far too tight trousers. “Your logic is flawed, my dear Gregory. Any presented with the torment that I have endured would enthusiastically defend my actions.” With that, Mycroft opened his mouth letting his tongue slide over his bottom lip in a filthy show as he moved towards his lover’s throbbing cock once more, ready to start his next cycle of torture.  
  
“I didn’t! There isn’t any more of the video!” Greg’s voice was thready and desperate, causing Mycroft to pause.  
  
“What do you mean? Are you telling me you never intended to send me you reaching orgasm?” If that were the case, perhaps this torment was going too lightly.  
  
Greg’s chest was heaving, and he wasn’t looking Mycroft in the eye, instead staring away at the wall as he said, “I didn’t come…I haven‘t...Not since you sent me the phone, I was trying…I wanted to wait until you got home.”  
  
Mycroft was glad Greg wasn’t looking at him, because he felt his mouth drop open of its own accord. A wave of heat spread from his core at his lover’s admission. In his mind’s eye he could see Greg touching himself, teasing himself as he filmed it for Mycroft’s pleasure, holding back from taking his own even though he hadn’t known when Mycroft would be able to come back to him.  
  
All thought of their playful wager flew from his mind as he reached out to trace his fingers over knuckles that were white from their grip on the sheets. Greg’s eyes turned to him, the vulnerability naked in them sent a bolt of something unfamiliar through Mycroft’s chest.  
  
“Oh, Gregory,” he said as his lover loosed his grip on the sheets, allowing their fingers to lace together. “How are you so…? Never, never have I done anything worthy of your presence in my life.” He kissed the inside of a trembling thigh gently, working his way towards Greg’ s cock as he laced the fingers of his other hand with Greg’s own.  
  
Connected in such a simple, yet intimate way, he once more took his Gregory’s cock into his mouth. He bobbed his head slowly, keeping his cool eyes locked with the warm ones watching him. They were glazed with passion and Mycroft offered his own as he bobbed his head.  
  
All thoughts of denial hand left him now, and he moved slowly, but surely towards his lover’s completion. When the fingers intertwined in his own began to tighten, he kept his pace slow and steady, moaning out his own desire as he rolled his tongue enticingly. Greg’s body was growing taut as a bowstring, arching up as Mycroft nudged him close to the brink. His moans took on a familiar cadence, signaling his approaching orgasm, but Mycroft kept his movements slow.  
  
It was something to behold, his Gregory’s climb to climax. The way his chest heaved and his lips trembled, how his muscles shivered with their effort. He could feel the trembling of Greg’s thighs underneath where his arms were draped across them, and the brush of tightly curled toes skated across the top of his own thighs.  
  
The thick length of Gregory’s cock pulsed in his mouth and his lover grew absolutely still for the space of a heartbeat before Mycroft’s mouth was filled with ejaculate. Pulse after pulse was accompanied by his lover’s voice, crying out wordlessly as he came. Mycroft swallowed his seed, continuing to pull until the bursts of slightly bitter fluid ceased completely.  
  
His own fingers trembled as he leg go of Greg’ s hand and reached for the button and flies of his trousers. He looked over his Gregory, his body still trembling and shivering in waves from the aftermath of his orgasm. Mycroft stood on his own shaky legs as he leaned over Greg, his fingers already circling his own neglected cock. A smile formed on the debauched face of his lover as thick, strong fingers moved to tangle with his own. Greg wrapped his legs loosely behind Mycroft’s as he slid his fingers to pull along his lover’s straining cock.  
  
Hot encouragement was whispered out of those full lips in between wet, sucking kisses. “Fuck yes, My. Come all over me.” Fingers tangled in the hair at Mycroft’s nape, pulling him down as Greg tightened his grip on the long, slim cock.  
  
“Gregory,” Mycroft whimpered.  
  
“Yeah, love.” Greg said, the endearment falling out of its own accord.  “That’s it,” he murmurs as he sucked on Mycroft’s lower lip, nipping it before he released it to add,  “Just like that, come on then.”  
  
Mycroft’s body did its own fair amount of trembling as he cried out his lovers name and anointed the glorious body with his own ejaculate. Greg kissed him roughly as Mycroft cried out, thrusting his tongue into his mouth as wave after wave of pleasure crashed into him. He barely managed to push himself to the side as he collapsed, sparing his current suit from landing in the stripes of his own come.  
  
They lie there, each panting, each basking in the new level of intimacy they had just shared. Greg reached down and tangled their fingers together once more before he turned to gaze at Mycroft.  
  
“I’m gonna get a button for this, aren’t I?”  
  
Mycroft burst out in astonished laughter before he tightened his grip on Greg’s fingers.  
  
Really, his Gregory was an insufferable tease.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this! All the encouragement is most appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked this! I must say I did some research on buttons, but I took some creative license with how much Mycroft's buttons would be worth. If you are a button aficionado, no offense was intended! Comments are always appreciated and adored!


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